


The Long Wait

by mrsfizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Physical Abuse, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 38,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsfizzle/pseuds/mrsfizzle
Summary: It's Neville's seventh year at Hogwarts, and it's a long struggle for survival as they await Harry's return. Neville, Ginny, and Luna keep hope alive in the DA as they battle the Carrows, who mercilessly torture them, and Snape, who provides secret help when he can. Set during HPDH. Rated for violence.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom & Luna Lovegood & Ginny Weasley
Comments: 69
Kudos: 26





	1. Now more than ever

Neville didn't know how he would have imagined his last school-bound ride on the Hogwarts Express, but it wouldn't have been like this.

Most years, it had been difficult to find an empty compartment to sit with his friends, especially given his yearly scare of losing his toad immediately upon the train's departure. This year, Trevor wasn't even with him, and neither were most of his friends. Half the compartments were empty, and most of the remaining students were Slytherins.

Tired of having to look at the sneering faces of his enemies, Neville was about to choose an empty compartment when the galleon in his pocket grew warm. He pulled it out to find a message in tiny letters: _Front car, second on the left_.

He hurried to the front car, peeked into the window of the indicated compartment, and entered to settle down across from Ginny and Luna.

"We were wondering when you'd join us. We need to make some plans." Ginny gave him a slight smile. "Where have you been?"

"Looking for Trevor, I would assume," Luna said.

Neville shook his head. "Trevor's gone."

Luna frowned. "That's sad."

"No, not really." He sighed. "I've been walking around the train, I almost just sat in an empty compartment."

"You're always welcome to sit with us. Even if we are a year younger than you." Luna smiled gently.

"Thanks, Luna." Two short years ago, Neville was embarrassed to sit with Luna; now it was a relief to be with anyone who he knew was on his side.

"About those plans," Ginny said. "I was listening to some Slytherins using one of Fred and George's extendable ears. Aside from the usual rubbish, I was able to pick up on something . . . disturbing."

"Bigger question is if you picked up on anything that _wasn't_ disturbing."

"I'm serious, Neville. Snape has the sword of Gryffindor."

Neville felt like an icy hand had clutched his heart. He'd never seen the sword before, but he knew what it meant. And he knew Snape could _not_ keep it.

"I don't understand why it's so bad," Luna said. "Compared with a wand, a sword isn't a very powerful weapon."

Neville gave her a look. "It might not be the most powerful weapon, but it's still a powerful item." Neville knew Voldemort would never be defeated by a sword, but he also knew the significance of that sword. His great uncle had told him stories when he was a child. "It's a symbol of everything Gryffindor stands for. Bravery, of course, but also nobility, doing the right thing when it's impossible. That sword has appeared to so many great wizards over the years in their hour of need. It . . . it deserves better."

"We'll get it back," Ginny said.

Neville let his breath out. "We'll have to sneak into Snape's office."

Ginny shrugged. "Fine."

"And counter any anti-theft measures he has in place."

"Of course."

"And find a place to keep the sword, so the other Gryffindors will know, but Snape won't."

"Not a problem."

Neville turned to Luna. "This will be dangerous. I know the sword probably doesn't mean much to you, since you're in Ravenclaw—"

"I want to help."

Neville saw the earnest look in her eyes and nodded. "Then we'll go together."

Ginny grinned. "Ron used to tell me stories, he and Harry and Hermione used to go on adventures like this all the time. You know they brewed Polyjuice potion in their second year? Ron let that slip, he made me swear never to tell anyone." She giggled, but then sighed, and her face grew serious. "We're all Hogwarts has now."

"No," Neville said. "There are others. We'll keep having DA meetings, if we can." Neville shuddered. It would be more difficult than ever to know who they could trust. They needed all the help they could get, but one spy in the club could spell ruin for all of them.

Luna sighed. "It's sad how many people are missing."

"Seamus is still around, isn't he?" Ginny asked.

"He must be having a hard time," Luna said. "Dean is muggle-born. Aren't they best friends?"

"Yeah," Neville said. "Dean's not around this year. Seamus is okay for now, but it's going to be tough on him. He's half."

"Where is Seamus?" Ginny asked.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Snogging some girl."

"Life goes on." Ginny smiled wryly. "I'm the only one in my family at Hogwarts this year. Ron's gone."

"Harry and Hermione, too," Luna said. "Do you think they're in hiding?"

"Maybe." Neville didn't think for a minute that they were hiding. Harry was on a mission of some sort—he had to be, otherwise he'd have faced seventh year like the courageous hero he was. He'd come back for them when the time was right. They just had to survive Hogwarts until Harry came back.

Ginny shook her head. "I feel like I've heard so many rumors, it's hard to what's true."

Luna's brow furrowed. "That's why I only trust the Quibbler. My father would never print something that wasn't true."

Ginny and Neville exchanged a look, but said nothing. Ginny cleared her throat. "Fred and George have some ideas about ways to get news around, too."

That was good—Fred and George were the perfect ones to do it, too. Reporting dark news was difficult; Neville was sure that Fred and George could balance it with good news, good humor, and good reminders for how to keep safe.

"About the defense club . . ." Ginny grimaced. "Should we still call ourselves Dumbledore's Army?"

Neville nodded. "Now more than ever."

It was quiet for a long while. Like many other students at Hogwarts, Neville had always felt the school was safe as long as Dumbledore was in charge. That security blanket had been removed from them, but it wasn't just physical safety that had been lost with Dumbledore's death. There was a warmth that came with believing the school, in general, stood for what was right, and it had filled the Hogwarts chambers and halls. Neville didn't want to think about the feeling that would fill the castle with Snape in charge.

A tremor of grief and fear passed through Neville. He never would have admitted it, but a tiny part of him, the part that was always embarrassed by the magnitude of his fear of Snape, was almost gratified when Snape had publicly embraced the dark side. It proved that Neville's fears hadn't been exaggerated or irrational.

Neville took a deep breath. "Remember when Professor Lupin was teaching us all how to fight boggarts?" That had been Neville's third year—Ginny and Luna were a year younger, though. "Did he do that with the second years?"

"We all know about what happened, Neville." Ginny laughed. "It was all over the school."

Neville grinned at the memory of seeing Snape in his grandmother's clothes. The image had gotten him through many a tough potions lesson, and it was as fresh in his mind now as that day in third year. "I think I'm more afraid of him than ever, but I don't think he's my greatest fear anymore."

"What do you think your boggart would be now?" Ginny asked.

Neville settled his head back into the seat. "I don't know."

And that was the truth. Neville didn't feel any braver or less fearful than he ever had. In fact, he was still quite convinced that the sorting hat had made a huge and obvious mistake in placing him in Gryffindor. But his greatest fear now couldn't easily take on an image: it was the fear of the unknown.

Certainly, he feared Snape. He feared oppression, pain, and loss of control. He feared losing his friends and losing his sanity. He feared his own inadequacy, and he feared fear itself.

But the scariest thing was knowing that there were things he couldn't imagine: dark, twisted possibilities too grim for his mind to conceive of. Such possibilities were normally so unlikely as to be laughable, but now they lurked in the shadows of tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after—and he'd never know when they would come to claim him until they already had.

And that's why it mattered that Dumbledore's Army stood together, and that the sword of Gryffindor should be in their possession, not Snape's. Fear had the power to control good people and malign them into something else. Every symbol and shred of hope mattered.

It didn't matter that the sorting hat had made a mistake with Neville. Now more than ever, he had to pretend to be brave.


	2. Who to Trust

Ginny usually separated from her older friends upon reaching the Great Hall, but today she ended up taking a place at the Gryffindor table with Neville, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender. It felt wrong for Luna to leave them to rejoin the Ravenclaws, and for a moment it frustrated her that the houses should exist to divide the school at all. If they were going to survive, they'd all have to be brave like Gryffindors, smart like Ravenclaws, and loyal like Hufflepuffs.

Then there were the Slytherins.

Ginny had had enough mentors in her life, family friends she respected, who had chided her that Merlin himself was a Slytherin, and that Slytherin wasn't about darkness, but about cunning, ambition, and strategy. If that was true, Dumbledore's Army would need a healthy dose of Slytherin values as well. But based on most of the Slytherins she'd met, things just weren't working out that way. Too many of the Slytherins had joined leagues with Voldemort. If there were any remaining that might have liked to stand against the coming darkness, they'd have been too outnumbered among their own friends and family to say anything.

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding among the DA that Neville, Ginny, and Luna would be taking up leadership—like how Harry had been in charge before, but Ron and Hermione had always supported him. The task seemed daunting at best, but she wouldn't let her friends down.

Ginny's heart ached at Harry's absence, and if she was honest with herself, knowing Ron was around had been a security blanket for her as well. Thinking of Harry and Ron made her miss Hermione all the more as well. A few of Ginny's friends seemed to think Hermione should have been placed in Ravenclaw, but Ginny knew better than anyone that that the Sorting Hat hadn't made a mistake. Hermione had supported Ginny through more than Harry knew—she was one of the bravest people Ginny had ever met.

There was no point in focusing on the people who had left them. Ginny needed to take stock of who was still around, know who to trust, who to avoid, and who to fight.

McGonagall was still there, of course, along with Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn, Hagrid, and a few others. She wasn't sure about Slughorn—he'd been a Slytherin, after all—but she was pretty sure she could trust the others. If Madame Pomfrey was still around, she would probably be trustworthy as well. She was great about healing students without asking too many questions, and with Snape in charge of school discipline, that might be more necessary than ever.

Snape.

Ginny felt like she'd known for years that Snape was untrustworthy. It seemed like they all had, all of her friends and everyone in the Order, deep down inside, but they'd all trusted Dumbledore's judgement—and as it turned out, Snape was Dumbledore's blind spot. If only someone had managed to get Dumbledore to listen! Maybe he would still be alive, and Hogwarts would still be safe.

But it wasn't worth lamenting if-only's. She continued scanning the staff table. There were a couple of new faces—a short, pale, heavyset man with tiny, narrowed eyes, and a woman who looked a lot like him. They could have been related. Since they'd been appointed since Snape took up his position, she had to assume they couldn't be trusted.

For a split second, it occurred to her to wonder why Snape had allowed the other staff members to keep their teaching positions at all, but she was distracted from her curiosity when Snape took his place at the center podium, where Dumbledore used to stand. Her blood boiled, and she clenched her teeth. She wanted to say something. To shout, to protest, to do _anything_ . . .

A warm hand took her shoulder, and she looked over to see Neville shaking his head. "It's okay," he whispered. "We'll be okay."

She felt her cheeks grow hot, and she shrugged his hand away. Neville was terrified of Snape, and he of all people was trying to reassure her.

Snape cleared his throat. "Greetings, Hogwarts students."

Ginny's eyes snapped back up to Snape, and she noticed for the first time that the sleeves of his robe were rolled back, so that his dark mark was exposed, standing in stark contrast to his pale skin. The two newer professors wore their sleeves the same way, showing off the same marks. So that answered that question.

"We will begin the Sorting of first-year students."

Snape didn't let the Sorting Hat sing, nor did he allow McGonagall to perform the ceremony. He rushed through the few first years whose families had been brave or desperate enough to allow their children to attend school, but it was a pitifully tiny class, and they weren't split evenly across the houses like they usually were. There were only three new Gryffindors; over half of the children went into Slytherin.

Children—that's what they were. Eleven-year-olds. Children Ginny and her friends would have to protect.

Snape didn't bother with much of a speech like Dumbledore always had. He didn't mention Dumbledore at all. He simply reminded students of a few school rules—mostly banning joke shop products—then said, "At this time, may I introduce to you, your new Muggle Studies professor, Alecto Carrow—" Snape gestured to the woman and paused to allow students to applaud, though most of the applause came from the Slytherin table— "and your new Dark Arts professor, Amycus Carrow."

This time, all applause was drowned out by murmurs. Dark Arts. Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, but truly Dark Arts.

"Our two newest professors are loyal servants of the Dark Lord himself, as many of you will undoubtedly become. They have also been assigned additional duties in the form of disciplinary authority. Students caught misbehaving will answer to them."

Ginny swallowed hard. Death Eaters in charge of discipline. She'd heard about what Umbridge did to the students who crossed her; Ginny had a feeling that that had only been a taste of how terrifying school punishments could be.

"I must warn you all," Snape went on, "under my authority, you will enjoy none of the lenience to which you all have become accustomed. Times have changed, and Hogwarts is no exception. I have been made aware that some of you intend to rebel against these new changes. I would implore you not to allow myself or any of our staff here at Hogwarts to catch you involved in any actions that might be considered rebellious. The consequences of such actions would be . . . unpleasant."

His eyes seem to narrow directly on Ginny and the few people around her. Ginny and Neville exchanged a glance. He kept his jaw set and his head high, but there was a flicker of panic in his eyes.

Snape didn't say anything to wrap up his speech—no words of encouragement, not even a command to eat or enjoy. The food merely appeared, and Snape sat back down at the table.

The house elves always pulled out all the stops for the start-of-term feast, and this year was the same, but Ginny had a hard time enjoying the food or even eating at all. Still, she made herself. She needed to keep up her strength.

"You must miss your brother."

Ginny looked up at Lavender. She hadn't talked to her much, especially in the wake of Lavender's awkward relationship with Ron the year before. "Yeah," Ginny said. "Do you?"

Lavender's cheeks turned pink. "Oh, you don't have to worry about . . . Ron's nice. But a lot's changed since last year, and . . ." Lavender looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

Ginny smiled gently. Lavender's blush wasn't that of a girl with a crush; it was that of a person called out on an embarrassing moment. "It's okay," Ginny said. "We've all learned a few things about what's important."

Lavender nodded. "I'm looking forward to defense."

"Didn't you hear Snape? It's just Dark Arts now."

Her voice lowered. "You know what I mean."

Ginny allowed herself a very slight smile. "You have a Galleon?"

"Keep it with me all the time," Lavender said.

"Me too," Parvati chimed in.

She looked over at Seamus and Neville, and they nodded and smiled as well.

There were so many things Ginny wanted to say and hear. She wanted to ask if anyone knew or had heard about the new professors, the Carrows. She wanted to tell them about the ideas she'd gotten from Fred and George about new ways of making distractions so they wouldn't be noticed sneaking off to meetings. She wanted to hear from them that they were as afraid as she was, but she also wanted them to tell her there was no reason to be afraid—that they'd make it through this year just like they'd made it through every other. And more than anything, she wanted to thank them—for what they'd already done, and what they would do in the coming weeks and months.

But none of them dared say any more. Not while in the same room as their enemies. There would be time for talk when they gathered in the Room of Requirement, which they would do easily with the Galleons. For now, their silence would have to speak the volumes they couldn't about how grateful they were just to have a few people who they could still trust.


	3. The Price

Seventh year Gryffindors had Dark Arts first thing the next morning, along with the Slytherins. The Slytherins and Gryffindors always tended to naturally separate from each other in the classroom, regardless of whether a teacher gave them a seating chart—and none of the teachers had been naive enough to force them to intermingle.

Neville took a seat next to Seamus, who was looking a bit lost without Dean. For years, Neville had been the last one picked in class when students were asked to choose partners, or the odd one out. He wouldn't be last anymore, since they were down to exactly four Gryffindors in their year. He knew it was a small thing, but it made him feel a bit less alone, and he had to be thankful for small blessings.

"New subject in our last year," Seamus said. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Been a long time since we started a new subject. Remember our first week of charms, when you set that feather on fire?"

"That might be the goal in this class." Seamus smiled wryly.

"You'll do great, then."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Not sure how this is going to be fair for House points," Seamus said, gesturing around at the difference between the number of Gryffindors and the number of Slytherins.

"That's the last thing on my mind," Neville muttered.

"Would be for me too, mate, but the Slytherins are insufferable enough without holding one more thing over our heads. This morning, Malfoy—"

But he was cut off by the doors slamming open.

Amycus Carrow had apparently learned a few things from Snape about how to enter a room. He stalked down the center and to the front of the classroom, his robes billowing behind himself impressively. He wrote "Dark Arts" on the chalkboard and took roll. He sneered after reading Neville's name, and Neville felt his blood chill. Carrow must have known about his parents.

When he finished taking roll, Carrow stepped out in front of the table. "I've been tasked with explaining to you all how the new discipline system will work at Hogwarts."

Neville swallowed hard. Most years, this talk would scare him because he knew he'd make mistakes no matter how hard he tried to stay out of trouble. This was the first year he intended to misbehave, which meant these would be the consequences if he were caught.

"First thing you need to know is that we won't be taking House points. Won't be awarding them, either. In our experience, it's not an effective system."

"Small mercies," Seamus whispered.

Neville wasn't sure whether to agree. In his first year, after McGonagall had taken fifty points from him for being out of bed after curfew, he'd cried himself to sleep. Part of it was his fear of the scolding and smacking he knew he'd take from his Gran when he got home, but most of it was the shame at having let Gryffindor down. As much as it had hurt, that camaraderie had been a powerful thing. It stood to reason that Death Eaters wouldn't be counting on that.

"The usual punishments will be replaced by detentions, most of which will be served with myself or my sister, your Muggle Studies professor. Do not expect us to assign you lines, essays, or other menial tasks. Punishment is meant to put a stop to rebellious behavior. I'll make this very simple and clear: if you should find yourself serving detention with either of us, expect pain."

Hot chills spread through Neville's limbs. He glanced over at Seamus, whose face had gone pale. Lavender Brown, who sat in front of him beside Parvati, had gripped the edge of her chair, and her knuckles were now turning white.

"Enough of that. Let's talk Dark Arts."

Somehow, the change of subject wasn't comforting.

Carrow began to pace. "You're here to push the boundaries, to learn new heights and depths of what magic is and can do. Your education in this vital subject is critically lacking, and I only have one year to get you up to speed, so you'll all have to work hard in this class. You're seventh years, most of you adults, and none of you have ever had a single lesson in reaching your full potential as wizards. That's a crying shame, and one I intend to rectify."

It was dead silent in the classroom.

"The first thing you need to understand about the Dark Arts is that they're . . . let's say misunderstood. You've been told a lot about them that isn't true. Scare tactics, meant to discourage practice of some of the most powerful forms of magic. This is a crime against everything we as wizards stand for. Anyone seeking to limit the practice of the Dark Arts is simply trying to limit _your power_ as a wizard. You are only as strong as the magic you master."

 _And only as good_ , Neville wanted to add.

"Now, I understand some of you might have—what do you call it—a moral objection to using Dark Arts, and I'm here to tell you you'll always be given a choice. As in the real world, you always have a choice."

Neville held his breath, not daring to hope.

"A choice between performing the Dark Arts, and being their victim."

Applause broke out on the Slytherin side of the classroom. Neville's fist clenched.

"This is the reason Hogwarts will no longer be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. It is unnecessary. If you know the Dark Arts themselves, you'll know how to defend yourself against them if the need should arise."

Carrow sounded sincere about that part, but Neville didn't believe he meant it. He couldn't imagine Death Eaters teaching anything that might be effective in fighting against the likes of Lord Voldemort.

"Now some of you may merely lack the skills and talents needed to command such powerful magic. This is a different problem entirely, and one with which I cannot help you. For those of you who find yourself in this position, this class will serve merely to teach you your place. The sooner you make peace with your inferior status, the sooner you can find a stronger wizard to help you rise above it."

Neville suddenly knew where he was going with this. He tensed his jaw to keep himself from protesting.

"One last idea to consider before we begin our lesson for today. Our Dark Lord is not without mercy. Many a weak, talentless wizards has found protection and elevated status through humble, loyal service. As his power grows, those who wish to survive must seek his favor."

" _Never_."

The word was out of Neville's mouth before he had a chance to think. His heart dropped into his stomach as soon as he said it.

Carrow had descended on him in a moment. "You think you're brave, Gryffindor?"

"No, sir." Neville sat up straight. He kept his eyes on the blackboard at the front of the class, avoiding Carrow's eyes.

"No. You're that Longbottom kid. You want to end up like your parents, boy?"

He took a deep breath that he hoped didn't sound as shaky as it felt. "If I have to."

"Oh, you will."

Neville turned to look Carrow in the eyes. "Better like them than like you."

The response was immediate. Carrow backhanded him across the right cheek.

Neville's head whipped back. He managed to keep from crying out when the vicious sting settled in a half-second later, but one fingernail had struck him just beneath the eye, and his eyes watered.

"That was a warning, boy." Carrow lowered his hand. "Anything else clever to say?"

Neville nearly shrank back. But Seamus was staring at him, eyes wide with anticipation; Lavender and Parvati were turned all the way back in their seats, their expressions a mix of fear and awe. It struck Neville that they were looking to him for guidance, and for hope.

So Neville blinked back the tears and set his jaw. "Not today, sir."

To his surprise, Carrow grinned. "Ah, see, that _was_ clever. Oh, I look forward to having you in my class this year, Longbottom. And I look forward to assigning you detention." He leaned against Neville's desk, bringing his face close. "But not today, eh?"

Carrow walked back to the front of the classroom and began to lecture about dark artifacts, and Neville let his breath out.

He could feel his hands shaking. Part of him wanted to take the lesson and heed the warning—to stay silent. But he knew it wasn't practical. For one thing, if their professors kept egging them on, he wouldn't be able to keep silent even if he wanted to. For another, they couldn't let the voices of Death Eaters be the final word. It had to be known and vocalized among the students that there were still those who stood for what was right.

Seamus gave him a discreet, gentle clap on the back when Carrow was facing the blackboard. Parvati and Lavender each took one last worried glance at Neville, at separate times—Neville made himself give each of them a small smile, and was rewarded with a smile in return.

Neville wasn't convinced he had won the battle against Amycus Carrow, but somehow, by showing that rebellion was possible and that the consequences were endurable, he'd taken a huge stride in the fight against fear.

It was both terrifying and sobering to have had a taste of what the price of hope would be. The price was steep, but affordable. And it was worth it. Anything they could do to spark hope within the DA would give them strength while they waited for Harry to return and save them all.

The sooner they could steal the sword of Gryffindor, the better.


	4. The Sword of Gryffindor

Luna knew this was a hard year for a lot of people, and with the Carrows running school discipline, she knew she had reason to be afraid. She wasn't a Gryffindor, and she wasn't going to be able to hold up to the Carrows' punishment the way a Gryffindor could.

But in some ways, this was the best year she'd ever had at Hogwarts. She had never been so secure in her friendships.

Not only did she have friends; she had best friends. Neville and Ginny sat with her in the Room of Requirement, gathered around a piece of parchment that Luna had charmed to display a simple but precise scale map of the castle. She'd have liked to add features, maybe even people, but the spell work was trickier than she had been expecting, and it had taken her a fair amount of time just to get the castle itself, especially the changing staircases.

There were no other DA members with them today. The first official DA meeting would be this weekend, and the three of them were supposed to be meeting to plan the defense lessons, but the planning for DA meetings had taken a backseat to planning to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.

That was fine with Luna. It would be nice to have the Sword of Gryffindor by the time of the first meeting. Luna knew how much it would mean to many of the members. She knew that in the eyes of many, Gryffindor symbolized nobility in the same way that Slytherin symbolized darkness.

Luna was just as happy to be in neither. It seemed a terrible amount of pressure for an old hat to be placing on an eleven-year-old's shoulders—or head, as the case may be. Ravenclaw only asked for cleverness. And cleverness was a neutral weapon.

Ginny traced her finger along the map. "There are two passageways leading directly to the Headmaster's office."

"But only two." Neville smiled. "That's perfect, since there's three of us. One to guard each passageway and one to steal the sword."

"Guard might be the wrong word. We can't really fight a professor." Ginny reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of flameless fireworks. "Fred and George gave me these. They'll make a distraction."

"They'll also make a lot of noise," Neville said. "We'll use those, Ginny, but not for this. Today, we should try to avoid being caught if we can."

Ginny shrugged. "Okay, but I still think whoever's guarding should be causing some kind of mischief. That way, if anyone comes toward the Headmaster's office, they'll be forced to deal with us first. Then whoever gets caught can send a signal. That buys whoever's in the office some time to get the sword and get out."

"How do we send a signal?" Luna asked.

"We won't be far from the office," Ginny said. "Just protest loud enough to be heard."

Luna took a deep breath as discreetly as she could. Given Carrow's warning about punishments, that probably wouldn't be a problem.

"I've got a less magical solution." Neville reached into his bag and pulled out a couple of cans of paint. "More constructive, too. We're going to graffiti."

"Awesome." Ginny grinned while Luna's heart rate picked up.

Neville smiled, not seeming to notice Luna's fear—she was thankful for that, at least. "We're going to use this as an opportunity to get the message out," he said. "Post, _Dumbledore's Army, still recruiting_."

"Yes!" Ginny grabbed a can of paint.

"So who's going to graffiti, and who's going into Snape's office?"

"There's a bigger problem." Ginny shook her head. "The only way we can get into the office is to know the password."

"Oh, that's easy," Luna said.

Both pairs of eyes turned toward Luna.

"You know the password?" Ginny asked.

"No. But I don't know the password to the Ravenclaw common room, either." The eagle knocker wasn't as picky about the answers as Luna had feared when she'd arrived as a first year. It would often open just as willingly for a clever, well-thought out answer as it would for the correct one.

Neville grimaced. "You're not going to be able to guess it, Luna, it's not a riddle."

"Yes, it is." Luna knew the gargoyle outside of Snape's office wouldn't literally ask her to solve a riddle, but in a way, it would. What would Snape choose as his password? If she asked it questions, might it give her a hint, even accidentally? Was there anything she could say to it, besides the password, that would convince it to open?

"Luna, this is dangerous." Neville shook his head. "You can't just—"

"Are you sure about this?" Ginny cut him off.

Luna nodded. "I'm positive." Years of impossible stand-downs with that eagle knocker had increased her confidence. She knew how to persuade a door to open; she wouldn't let her friends down.

Ginny looked at Neville. "I trust her."

Luna felt like she was floating. Those weren't words she heard very often, in reference to herself.

Neville rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay." He stood, picking up a can of paint. "Let's go now, before I lose my nerve."

"We can't go now if he's in his office," Luna said.

"It's still technically breakfast time. He should be in the Great Hall, shouldn't he?"

Luna took out her wand, pointed at the map, and muttered a few spells under her breath. Adding tracking spells to every person in the castle for the purposes of a map was too much for her, but using the skills she'd learned after quite a lot of practice and extra study of Neville's Charms textbook, she managed to locate Snape. Neville was right—he was still in the Great Hall.

"Yes," she said. "And I don't think he'd let other people stay in there without him. So now is a good time, I think."

They left the safety of the Room of Requirement, Luna a few feet behind the others. Maintaining her usual aloof, airy disposition did quite a lot toward hiding what she was feeling on the inside, but she could feel it breaking, and she didn't want them to see her shaking. They both seemed to be fine, which meant they were either better at hiding their fear than she was, or they really weren't afraid. She'd have settled for the strength to hide it.

Neville took his position partway down the hall to the office; Ginny passed it to get to the other hall, leaving Luna behind with one last encouraging smile.

Luna approached the stone gargoyle. Her first idea was to see if she could establish a rapport with it. "Hello."

It did not respond.

"What's your name?"

Still nothing. So starting a conversation wouldn't help.

A strategy she'd tried a couple of times with the eagle knocker was to start guessing wildly until she either stumbled upon an answer or it grew tired of her guesses and provided a clue.

There was always a slight possibility that Snape hadn't changed the password since Dumbledore's death. She'd heard Dumbledore liked to use the names of sweets as his passwords.

"Lemon drops. Pumpkin pasties. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. Acid pops. Chocolate Frogs. Um . . . treacle fudge?"

No response at all. She wasn't sure the gargoyle would respond if she was getting close, but the more sweets she listed, the less she could imagine Snape actually allowing any of them to remain as his password.

"V-Voldemort," she stammered, before remembering that even his followers didn't always necessarily use his name. "The Dark Lord. Death Eaters. Dark arts. You-know-who."

That stream of guesses actually got a reaction from the gargoyle. Ever so subtly, it narrowed its eyes, just for a moment, before relaxing.

Luna shifted her weight, considering. Something had irritated it. Either it was annoyed by her repeated guessing, or it didn't like the actual words she was saying.

She tried guessing randomly again: "Severus Snape. Harry Potter. Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore."

It didn't react at all. It wasn't upset with her for guessing. It was upset by the mention of Voldemort and his followers. Which meant maybe, _maybe_ . . . the gargoyle was still loyal to Dumbledore.

She took a chance. "Please, I need to get in," she said. "I need to steal the sword of Gryffindor. Snape shouldn't have it."

A slight pause, and Luna was about to try something else when the door opened.

"Brave girl," the gargoyle said.

She didn't bother to correct it. She ascended the staircase.

She was only halfway there before she heard a voice behind her.

"Going somewhere, Lovegood?"

She whirled around, and the sight made her want to be sick with fear. Snape stood a few steps down on the staircase, and Amycus Carrow behind him, one hand gripping Ginny's arm, the other gripping Neville's. Neville sported a split lip. Ginny's mouth was moving, her eyes on Luna, but no noise came out. That explained why Luna hadn't heard anything—they'd been Silenced.

"Amycus, leave us. I plan to take care of their punishment myself."

Carrow sneered, but let go of Neville and Ginny. All three followed Snape into his office. He went to stand behind his desk, and they stood in front of it.

" _Idiots!_ All three of you! Dunderheaded _fools!_ "

Luna swallowed, trying hard not to cower. She glanced over at Neville and Ginny—there was no fear or guilt in their expressions.

He raised his wand, and Luna flinched, but he merely removed the silencing spells from Neville and Ginny, then lowered his wand. "You are about to learn what happens when you dare to defy _me_."

Luna held back her tears. She had never wished she were in Gryffindor, but right now, she wished she deserved to be.

"Let's go through your list of offenses, shall we?" Snape began to pace. "Carrow was alerted to the graffiti as soon as it began—you're not the first to attempt to mark these walls, but you're the first to do so with such _senseless_ words. _Dumbledore's Army?_ Mark my words, if I _ever_ discover where and when you are meeting and plotting, you will _not_ be spared from the Cruciatus."

A slight motion caught Luna's eye. Neville had flinched.

"And mark my words, if the three of you weren't pureblooded, no amount of blood spilled for this offense would be considered too great by the Dark Lord."

Luna shuddered, and Snape's eyes turned to her.

" _You_ , Lovegood, triggered every thievery artifact in my office. We staff members are quite fond of them. What were you trying to steal?"

Luna didn't say anything, but her eyes unconsciously flicked to where he'd stored the Sword of Gryffindor, under a glass case.

"Stupid girl." He slammed his hands on the table and leaning forward. "You never would have gotten past the first layer of wards."

Yet she _had_. She'd gotten past the gargoyle.

Snape straightened up. "Most detentions will be served with one of the Carrows, but since the three of you are so convinced of your own bravery, the punishment should stand accordingly. You'll join Hagrid tonight in the Forbidden Forest. See if you feel as brave then."

Luna had never been into the Forbidden Forest at night, but she could still feel her shoulders relax a little when he sentenced them to their punishment. Although Luna was sure Snape was trying to be intimidating, she'd have rather served detention with Hagrid in hell itself than with the Carrows anywhere else.

"Get out of my sight," Snape said, and all three of them hurried down the stairs.

Only Luna glanced back over her shoulder to see the look on Snape's face. He seemed neither angry nor triumphant. He merely looked tired.

While she couldn't exactly sympathize with him, she wondered how exhausting it must have been to serve a sadistic dark lord. She wondered if he knew he'd let them off easy. She wondered if he cared.

She knew Snape was clever, but he'd slipped a couple of things. One, the fact that the walls were warded to alert a professor if a student attempted to graffiti them. Another, that staff offices would be difficult to steal from—they were warded specifically against thieves. Also, that they'd have to keep their half-blooded DA members safe—Voldemort didn't want his Death Eaters to spill too much pure blood, regardless of the offense.

And most importantly: Snape knew about Dumbledore's Army, but he didn't know where they met.


	5. The Gifts of the Houses

Neville, Ginny, and Luna made their way out to Hagrid's hut at seven. There was just enough light out that they didn't have to light their wands, though Neville held his at the ready. It had become a habit.

Neville couldn't believe their luck. When Carrow had caught him putting up the graffiti, he was sure he'd be in for a long torture session. He was willing to take it—as much as he didn't want to admit it, torture would likely be inevitable in the long run—but he was thankful for every bit of pain they could avoid.

Snape wasn't wrong about the dangers of the forbidden forest. But in his conviction that Hagrid was incompetent, he'd apparently forgotten one thing: that Dumbledore had trusted him completely, which meant that many Gryffindors did as well. Neville couldn't have said he was looking forward to detention, but he wasn't afraid.

Hagrid hurried them into his hut when they arrived. "Don' want yeh to freeze ter death ou' there," he said, and passed them each a thicker cloak. "Leave yer bags, yeh won' need 'em."

"What are we going to be doing tonight?" Neville asked.

"Gatherin' herbs fer Professor Sprout," Hagrid said, gesturing for Fang to lead the way back out into the night.

"And that has to be done at night?" Herbology was Neville's strong suit. He knew there were some plants that were easier to find at night, but they were few and far between. Generally, being able to see well was too big an advantage, and even aside from that, plants liked the sunlight. "Are you sure—"

Hagrid smiled and put a finger to his lips, then left the hut, beckoning them to follow him. "Tha's what Snape thinks we're doin'."

They walked for what felt like a long time. Neville was thankful for the cloak. It was too dark for him to make out much of his surroundings, especially since he didn't know his way around the forest, but Hagrid carried the lantern, and he clearly knew where he was going. They stayed close behind him,

Finally, he could make out something in the distance. It looked like a campfire.

Neville froze for a second. He didn't want to encounter anyone in "Um . . . Hagrid . . ."

He turned back and grinned at them. "Yeh'll like this."

They approached a clearing in the trees, where four figures sat around a crackling campfire. They stood as Hagrid approached.

"Wait," Ginny said. "Professors?"

McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn stood around the campfire.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't understand."

"This might be our only chance to meet this year," McGonagall told her. "This could be the last help the three of you receive for a very long time."

"Won't Snape notice you're missing?" Luna asked.

"Death Eater meeting tonight," Slughorn told them. "I overheard the Carrows discussing it."

Luna nodded and went to sit on one of the wooden benches beside the fire. Neville sat beside her, and Ginny beside him.

"Do attempt to listen well." McGonagall gave them a stern look that was impossible to refuse. "We know what the three of you were trying to do today. But you must be more careful. The Carrows will not hesitate to harm you."

Neville's jaw stiffened. "My parents didn't care about that."

McGonagall's eyes pierced his. "If your parents had been given the choice, I am certain they would have been with you. And if they were here, they would tell you the same thing."

"All we're trying to tell you," Sprout said, "is that the year will be long, and we're only in the first week."

Neville shook his head. "Harry will come back for us."

"You don't know that," Slughorn said.

"He will! I know he will."

"Yeh're righ', o' course," Hagrid told him. "But it coul' be a long time, Neville."

"In the meantime, you need to focus on the DA."

Neville blinked. "You're okay with the DA?"

McGonagall sighed. "Under normal circumstances, we'd never condone our students fighting such battles. But we won't always be there to help you. These aren't normal circumstances. We have Death Eaters running classes and detentions, and we don't know what Voldemort's plans are. We can't protect you, but we can equip you. First, by saying this—I expect all of you to take as few risks as you can possibly take."

Neville felt his heartbeat rising. "We're not trying to get into trouble, Professor."

"Then save your foolhardy schemes for the day when Professor Snape has something worth risking your blood to steal."

Neville's breath caught in his throat. "What could be more worth saving than the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Think, Longbottom. If one of your classmates were imprisoned in Professor Snape's office, you'll wish you hadn't given them reason to increase their security."

It was quiet for a moment after that. Neville had been so focused on bringing symbols of hope to the DA, he had failed to grasp the immensity of the situation. McGonagall was right, of course. They needed to be smarter.

"I don't have the courage you do," Slughorn said. "And I agree with your other professors—you need to take caution. But you should know something. For the time being, you students are in less danger than we are."

"Don't tell them that, Horace," McGonagall hissed.

"They need to know the truth, Minerva." He sighed. "A different kind of danger, then. The three of you are pureblooded, and you're children. Neville, I believe you are of age, but you're still young enough they'll think there's hope of turning you. When we professors rebel, we'll be killed. But you won't be killed, because Death Eaters are hesitant to spill pure blood, especially when they believe they might be able to bring you to their side."

"They will torture you," Sprout said.

"Respectfully, professors . . ." Neville swallowed hard. He wasn't used to confronting authority in this way—it was one thing to stand up to Carrow, and quite another to speak in this way to professors whose opinion mattered to him. "This isn't advice. Most of this is information we already knew."

"We know that, Longbottom," McGonagall said. "We didn't come to give advice. We came to give help. We know the three of you have taken over leadership of Dumbledore's Army."

"I—but—"

"Everyone knows, and we're not here to tell you that you shouldn't fight. But Merlin knows we're not going to let you fight unaided." She smiled. "Filius?"

Flitwick stood and walked over to Luna. "As a fellow Ravenclaw, I could not be prouder, my dear girl." He stepped back and looked to all three of them. "I do wonder how you've been communicating with your classmates."

"About the DA?" Luna took her Galleon out of her pocket. "Hermione enchanted these."

"Brilliant! May I?" He held out his tiny hand, and Luna placed the Gallon inside. "Ah, I knew it must be something like this, but I had no idea . . . Most magnificent! I hope you won't mind if I make a minor modification? It should affect them all."

Luna nodded her permission, and he took out his wand and tapped it, then handed it back to her.

"Now both undetectable by others and impossible to lose," he squeaked.

"Thank you." Luna pocketed the Galleon. "Can you teach me that charm?"

"It's quite tricky. But when this is over, I'd be delighted to try."

Neville took his Galleon out of his pocket. It didn't look any different to him, but if Flitwick said it was impossible to lose . . . He tried tossing it into the air clumsily, and it landed cleanly in his hand. He grinned.

Slughorn stood and came to stand in front of Ginny. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, young lady. I'm putting a lot of trust in you with this." He took out a large glistening golden flask. "Felix Felicis."

Her eyes widened. "Liquid luck."

"Very good." He placed the flask in her hands. "You know how it works, then?"

"My great uncle used to tell me stories . . ."

"Then you know how dangerous it can be."

She nodded. "We'll save it for the life-and-death battles. Thank you, sir."

"No, thank you. All of you. We're counting on you to change things, here and going forward." He hung his head. "I look forward to the day when I do not have to be ashamed to say I was a Slytherin."

Neville's eyes fell closed. He had been so quick to dismiss all Slytherins. Meanwhile, Slughorn's potion could easily save any one of their lives.

Sprout was next to step forward, and she came straight to Neville. "I'm the luckiest of the professors at Hogwarts to have seen you at your best, Neville. It's my joy to hand this over to you."

She gave him a leather case, which he opened to find an assortment of dried plants. Dittany, murtlap, mandrake leaves, fennel, arka, and a few he didn't recognize. "Healing herbs."

"Mostly pain relief." She lowered her head. "Madame Pomfrey will only be able to help you so much. You'll need to be able to look after each other. I couldn't possibly have chosen someone more worthy."

His eyes stung. "Th-thank you."

"I, er, I got summat fer yeh, too." Hagrid reached into one of the many deep pockets of his cloak. "Remus Lupin sent it. Says it helped him, when he firs' started teachin' defense. Thought it migh' be helpful for the DA."

He took out a worn set of books—apparently teachers' aides for Defense Against the Dark Arts—and handed them to Luna, who tucked them under her arm.

"Fer what i's worth," he said, "I've got faith in yeh. All three of yeh."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Last gift before you go." stepped forward and tapped Neville on the head with her wand. He flinched, but she did the same to Ginny and Luna as well. "This is a glamor spell. You'll return to the castle with the appearance of having had a long, difficult detention. The dirt will fade when you next shower, and the cuts will appear to heal over the next few days."

Neville looked down at his hands. His fingers and knuckles appeared to be scraped up, like they always were when he'd been wrestling with the more vicious plants in the greenhouse. He looked over to Ginny and Luna—their faces were streaked with dirt, their hair disheveled.

"Brilliant." Ginny laughed.

"A word of advice." McGonagall straightened up even further than usual, looking from Neville, to Ginny, to Luna. "Bravery means doing the right thing. It means being willing to suffer for what is good. It does not mean suffering silently. Tears are not weakness. Fear is not weakness. We will not always be able to help you, but you _must_ be open with each other."

Neville nodded solemnly. Honesty about his own fear and pain would be tremendously difficult, but he knew he would be livid if Luna or Ginny or any of his other friends tried to hide their suffering when he could have helped.

"We need ter be gettin' back, it's gettin' late." Hagrid said.

"Thank you all," Neville said, holding the case of herbs to his chest. "This all means so much."

"Neville," McGonagall said as he stood to go, "if I've been hard on you in the past, it's because I've seen your potential, and watched you fail time and again to reach it. Your lack of confidence has always been your greatest enemy. It has no place in this battle, or in your life after this is over." She looked at him over the upper rim of her glasses. "Do _not_ disappoint me, young man."

He took a deep breath. "I hope we make you proud."

"You already have."


	6. Army Training

Neville went over his notes at least a dozen times before leaving his dorm room to head to the Room of Requirement. He'd thought he had considered every possibility.

An empty room—he and Ginny and Luna would take the time to work on stepping up their advertising.

An overcrowded room—he could work on convincing the space to grow. He knew and loved the Room of Requirement.

Traitors—they'd already been working on enchantments to avoid allowing anyone to give away their location or meeting time.

Getting caught on the way—he had excuses lined up in his mind, and he'd practiced telling lies in the mirror.

He had lesson plans that branched out to many different possible paths depending on what his "students" had already mastered. He had materials ready for object lessons, books ready for quick reference—the ones Hagrid had given them had been immensely helpful—and alternate spells ready in case the ones he was trying to teach proved to be too difficult.

What he saw when he entered the room wasn't on his list of possibilities

For one thing, he was one of the last to arrive. Too much effort spent checking his notes and not enough keeping track of the time. But that was the least of it.

Most of the members were spread throughout the room, in little groups of twos and threes. A slightly larger group were all congregated in a single corner. Neville gently pushed his way through the crowd to find Ginny sitting on a chair in the corner, face red and sweaty, right hand clutching her left arm.

"What happened?"

"I think it's dislocated," she said.

"Carrow?"

Ginny nodded. "Caught me muttering about how Lockhart was a slightly better DADA teacher than he is. He twisted my arm until I took it back."

"Did you?"

"Kind of." She smiled. "I said, 'I take it back,' and he let go, then I said, 'He was _much_ better than you.' Then he grabbed it again and twisted it harder. Then something popped, and . . ."

Luna patted her good shoulder. "You shouldn't have done it, Ginny."

Neville couldn't see how bad it was, since she was still wearing long sleeves, but he knew what a dislocated shoulder looked like. He'd even seen how it was dealt with—by muggles, anyway. He didn't know a spell to fix it. "Why didn't you go to Madame Pomfrey?"

Ginny gave a short laugh. "Carrow mentioned that. Said we're not allowed to go to the hospital wing for injuries from punishments. They told her the rule, too."

"But that's ridiculous. You know she'll help you anyway. Go now, I'll walk you there. We can start the meeting later."

She looked him deep in the eyes. "They'll send her away and replace her with one of their own."

He swallowed hard. He knew how dangerous Hogwarts could be even without Death Eaters running the classes. The last thing they wanted to do was lose Madame Pomfrey. "Okay, well, I don't know the spell for a dislocated shoulder."

"We can look it up," Luna said. "If we read enough about the theory, and practice the pronunciation and wrist movement—"

"Next time," Ginny said. She winced, and shouted out to the room, "Anyone know how to do this the muggle way?"

Seamus took a step forward. "Ah . . . yeah. But it's gonna hurt."

"Let's get it over with."

He sighed. "Okay. Lie down on the floor."

Ginny got up from the chair, still clutching her shoulder, and lay on her back. Seamus took her arm and spread it out to the side. He gave it a sudden jerk.

Ginny let out a stream of cursing, tears rolling down her cheeks. Neville felt eyes on him. He turned around—everyone in the room was staring at them.

He stood and took a step back, and glanced around at the room. Not at the people in the room, but the room itself. "Help us out?" he whispered.

Another glance around revealed an ice box on one of the shelves, and a box of tissues on another. He hurried over to it, and picked up a cold pack and the tissues, bringing them back to Ginny, who was now sitting up. He knelt beside her and held the cold pack to her shoulder for long enough to let her clean the tears from her face, before letting her take the ice herself.

Then Neville stood back up and looked, not at the room itself, but at the people in it. Some of them looked scared, but it occurred to him that even they looked more like they were worried about Ginny than like they were really concerned for themselves. And most didn't even look scared or worried at all. Most just looked curious. He also noticed that just as many people were looking at him as at Ginny.

That's when it hit him. They were waiting to see how he would respond. And his response would be a model for theirs.

Doing his best to swallow the overwhelming lack of confidence he felt, Neville smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you—Ginny Weasley!"

Most of the applause was quiet and hesitant. But just enough of the members were genuine and enthusiastic that the overall effect was cheering rather than dismal. Ginny raised one hand, smiling wryly. He wouldn't have liked the spotlight he was giving to Ginny if he were the one who was hurt, but she was more like Fred and George—ready to put on a good face in front of a crowd when it was needed.

Neville had heard about muggle leaders used common suffering to increase camaraderie in a group of soldiers. It was a risk, but he decided to give it a try.

"I don't want any of you to make any mistake about what's going to be happening this year. We're not dealing with schoolyard bullies anymore. We called ourselves Dumbledore's Army as a slap in the face to the ministry, but that's not what that is anymore. This is a real army. This is war. There will be injuries. There will be pain."

The room had gone silent. All eyes were on him.

"She—" he pointed to Ginny— "is what heroism looks like. And so is he." He pointed to Seamus. "Staying with us is dangerous. But it also gives you the greatest protection you could ever have. Leave now, and you might avoid punishment this year. We'll never judge you."

Slight shuffling and murmurs spread throughout the crowd.

He took a deep breath. "But stay with us, and we'll never abandon you. Every time you stand up to the Carrows, we will cheer you on. Every time you speak out against the Dark Arts, we will back you up. And if you ever get hurt, we will be here with healing herbs and cold packs. Every. Time."

Ginny stood and stepped out beside him. "We'll teach you how to fight and defend yourselves. You'll need it now, and you'll need it when Voldemort comes for us. Because he will come."

"But more than how to fight," Neville said, "we'll talk about when to fight and when to stand down. We'll work on knowing when to speak and when to be silent."

Ginny gave him a look, and he shrugged. He knew he was going to be worse at that than anyone else, and based on her expression, she knew as well. That didn't mean other people had to suffer needlessly. They could still talk about choosing battles wisely, even if Neville ended up choosing them all.

For a moment, Neville wanted to throw out all of his lesson plans and teach healing instead. But there were problems with that plan. For one, he knew very little in the way of healing spells, and he didn't know how to safely practice anything he learned. He knew there must be methods, since there were entire schools dedicated to helping witches and wizards become Healers, but he didn't know what they were.

But it was more than that. As it was, Ginny would either be a little stiff or wearing a sling for a few days. She'd be sore, and the Carrows would notice she was sore. That was important. If the Carrows inflicted an injury only to find it had been healed completely by the next day, they would suspect. They would step up their game in a way Neville didn't want to be responsible for. Up until this point, as far as he knew, none of the students had been subjected to the Cruciatus yet. And there was no healing or comfort for that.

They would have to make do with what they had—with what the Carrows could believe they might have had in their dorm rooms. Ice was safe, because it took away pain without changing the appearance of the injury. Bandages were safe, because everyone had access to them. Healing herbs were a risk, but one they would take in case of emergency. Healing spells were too risky. They'd be disastrous whether they got them right or wrong.

They'd have to stick to what they did best. And that was defense.

"Okay," Neville said. "Let's go ahead and start the meeting. Since many of us haven't been able to practice any magic over the summer, we're going to take some time to review before we go on to new material. Let's start with our Patronus charms . . ."


	7. Muggle Studies

The following few weeks were surprisingly uneventful.

Neville, Ginny, and Luna followed McGonagall's advice about being careful about which battles they chose, and Neville found himself staying quiet a lot more than he thought he would during classes. They also didn't need to do much in the way of advertising for Dumbledore's Army, because their membership grew every week without anyone having to put up graffiti.

Meanwhile, the DA meetings were going better than ever, even without Harry around. Being taught by Death Eaters gave everyone firsthand knowledge the reality of the situation, and it motivated everyone to study and practice harder than ever. Neville had never seen them make so much progress in so little time. For that matter, he'd never seen himself make so much progress so quickly.

Most of the time, classes weren't as bad as he had been expecting, either. In Dark Arts class, much of the first month was theory rather than practice, and it was surprisingly useful. Since the class had both Gryffindors and Slytherins, Carrow didn't seem to feel any need to hold back in giving them information about the types of artifacts and other items the Death Eaters liked to use, and Neville took careful notes in case any of the information became useful later on.

It became clear to Neville that the Carrows enjoyed physically punishing students whether it had to do with actual rebellion or not. Seamus got his palm slapped with a ruler for trying to pass a note to Parvati during Dark Arts class, Michael Corner got his ear twisted painfully for not turning in a Muggle Studies assignment, and Neville ended up getting his mouth Scourgified for talking out of turn. As awful as it was, none of the injuries required any medical attention, and Neville thought he'd actually rather have any of those punishments than a detention with Snape or Filch. At least they were over quickly.

Neville settled into his seat beside Seamus in Muggle Studies class. He could tell Seamus was uncomfortable. Carrow always said awful things about muggles during this class. It bothered Neville, but he couldn't imagine how it made Seamus feel, given that his father's whole side of the family were all muggles.

There was nothing he could say to comfort Seamus. A couple of times, he'd stepped on his toe under the desk to keep him from speaking up at a time when it wouldn't have been worth it. In Neville's opinion, it never would have been important enough for Seamus to speak out. He was amazed that Seamus had come to school at all, given his half-blood status.

"Let's pick up where we left off." Alecto Carrow strode into the room, picked up a piece of chalk. She began to write on the board. "Today we continue our unit on muggle technology. We'll be discussing the reasons why allowing muggles to flourish unchecked causes a threat to the wizarding world."

Out of the corner of his eye, Neville saw Seamus stiffen. He'd said his father was something called an electrician, which apparently had a lot to do with what Carrow was talking about.

"Electricity," she said, "is, of course, the primary means by which muggles make their pathetic attempts to emulate magic. Needless to say, these methods are extremely crude, unreliable, and often dangerous to their own kind."

Neville put a gentle foot on Seamus's to remind him to stay silent.

"In general, electricity is not dangerous to wizards, but the vast expansion and development of their technology implies that they may attempt to use it to threaten us in the future."

Seamus's foot jerked under Neville's, and Neville pressed his shoe in harder.

"Of course, electric systems also tend to break down in the presence of strong magic, further proving the barbarism of such inventions. However, it is not typical for the electricity to fail in a—" she cleared her throat— " _mixed home_. Blood traitors and their children typically do not possess strong enough magic to cause this effect."

Neville heard Seamus's knuckles crack.

Carrow looked up from the board. "Something to say, Finnigan?"

"No, professor," Seamus said through his teeth.

She smirked. "Good."

Neville glanced over at Seamus. His jaw was tensed, his face red.

Seamus wasn't going to last the entire class. Not when the topic was so close to his father's profession. If Neville wanted to stop him, he'd need to either remove him from the room, or speak on his behalf.

There was no way of getting him to leave, though. Neville stood up. "I have something to say."

Carrow turned back to face the class, then leaned forward, her hands against the front desk. "Did I ask you?"

"Have you ever seen a lightbulb?" He used one of the only examples of muggle electricity he knew a lot about.

"Of course I have, foolish boy."

"Have you seen one work?"

Her eyes narrowed. She seemed to know she was cornered. If she said she hadn't, it would make her seem incompetent at her job, but if she said she had, it would imply her magic hadn't been strong enough to keep it from doing so. Neville knew a little about this—she could weasel her way out by saying it usually took the presence of many wizards—but that would require taking back her insult about mixed families. "Up to the front of the classroom. Now."

Neville obeyed, though his knees shook slightly—he hoped no one could tell. He could feel all eyes in the classroom on him, and his ears burned, but it wasn't exactly from the embarrassment of being shamed. It was mostly the fear of knowing he was about to have to take pain in front of others. McGonagall had told them not to be afraid of expressing pain to each other, but it was different with Slytherins watching. Slytherins who would be enjoying the show.

He stood across from Carrow in front of the desk. Her eyes met his, though her voice was loud enough that he suspected that she was really talking to the whole class. "This is for speaking out of turn in my class." She raised her hand and struck his left cheek with her palm.

He flinched, but didn't make a noise. Sting tingled across his skin, and he let his breath out. It hurt more than he had expected for a single slap, but at least it was over.

"This is for disrespecting me." Another slap in the exact same place, much harder than the first.

He shouted. He couldn't help it. The impact was like a small explosion, and a second later, the whole left side of his face felt like it was on fire.

"And this is for treason." She pulled back her hand twice as far as she had the other two times, then let it fly.

It was a reflex. He caught her hand. He let it go immediately after catching it, but it was too late.

Her eyes widened, and she broke into a laugh that chilled Neville's insides. "Detention, Longbottom. Tonight in my office, seven sharp." She grinned. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to say that."

Neville swallowed.

"Sit."

He went to sit down at his desk, breathing hard, running his fingers gently over his left cheek, which was hot to the touch.

"Thanks, man," Seamus whispered. "But I'm not sure it was worth it."

"It was." Neville made himself smile, even though he was sure the detention was going to be a lot worse than that. His pain tolerance wasn't where it needed to be, if he couldn't take two slaps without crying out and deflecting the third, but he supposed it didn't matter—he'd have done it again if he thought it would comfort one of his classmates. "It _was_."

"Alright," Carrow continued with her lesson. "A few corrections to the beginning of the lecture . . ."


	8. Breaking point

Neville's face didn't sting at all by the time he got back to his dorm room. It did distract him for the majority of the class, but Carrow seemed a bit distracted as well, and her lecture was nowhere near as vehement as it had been at the start. Seamus settled down considerably after Neville had defended his family, and Lavender and Parvati each gave Neville a smile.

Seven rolled around far too quickly. Neville didn't know exactly what to expect from the detention. He thought about skipping out entirely, but he knew that would probably be worse for him in the long run. His knees shook just enough to slow him down a little on the way, so he arrived at Carrow's office a couple of minutes late. He knocked on the door, and she gestured him inside without saying anything about his tardiness.

He'd never been inside the Muggle studies office before, and he'd actually had to ask some of the other students in Gryffindor where to find it. It was a plain brown office with a large desk and bookshelf, along with a smaller desk in the corner. Most staff offices had them, and used them for students who had detention.

Carrow hadn't done a lot of decorating, other than a couple of dark marks on the walls. It was hard to believe that this was the place where he would be tortured.

Neville waited for her to invite him to sit at the table, but she didn't. She simply reached into the holder on her side and took out her wand.

"This won't take long. You'll be back in your dorm room before seven thirty."

He swallowed hard. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that the torture would be short. He'd had the Cruciatus before, from Bellatrix, and that had only taken seconds. For the most part, though, his mind had blocked out the memory. It had been such an intense day already. He remembered pain, but he couldn't truly remember what the sensation had been like, and he didn't want to.

"Make no mistake," Carrow went on. "This one will be short, but every time we have to go over this again, it will get longer."

"What do you think you're going to do? Break me?" He knew there was no one to be brave for, but he held up his head anyway.

She grinned. "I have no intention of breaking you tonight, Longbottom. No, that would be most disappointing. I intend—" she gently tapped his forehead with her wand— "to break you _slowly_."

A shiver ran through Neville's limbs, and his heart beat slow and hard.

"See? Like that." She raised her wand.

Neville squeezed his eyes shut. His blood pounded in his ears so hard that he barely heard her speak the curse.

He dropped to the floor, all his muscles clenching at once. It was like every inch of his skin had been set on fire, slashed with knives, and bathed in acid at once. He could hear himself screaming, but he couldn't feel it in his throat, not over the impossible pain.

It stopped. And yet it didn't. Physically, the pain disappeared in an instant, but the panic he'd felt while the curse was running its course didn't settle in the slightest. His muscles tensed just as much as they had, and he realized he was sobbing uncontrollably.

She knelt down beside him, lifting her wand again. "One more, Neville, just one more."

He sat up and looked her in the eyes. " _Please no._ I'll do anything, I'll—"

"Now, now, don't make promises you'll forget. You'll be fine and back to your traitorous self in a few minutes." She grinned. "By all means, though, beg for mercy. It does make this much more enjoyable for me."

He pulled aside one hand, and saw through blurry eyes that Carrow was staring at him, taking in his tears. He'd known she was a sadist. But he hadn't truly seen it until now, nor had he fully understood what it meant. She didn't just enjoy his pain. It fed her. It drove her.

He spat in her face.

She gasped, and performed a quick wordless cleaning spell on her own face before pointing the wand back at him. " _Crucio_."

And he was back on the floor, screaming, the white hot sharpness piercing through his flesh and to the core of his bones. He couldn't have said whether it was longer or shorter than the first one, or whether it was better or worse. Time and scale had no meaning to him. There was only the agony.

She stopped suddenly, and again, he felt pain stop but there was no true relief. He tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his face up in his arms, his whole body shaking.

"Go to hell," he said. A muggle phrase—fitting. He meant to shout it with confidence, but it came out as more of a croak.

"Get out of my sight."

He scrambled to all fours, then tried to pull himself to his feet, but he lost his balance and fell on his first attempt. She grabbed his arm, half dragged him to just outside her door, then dropped him and closed the door behind herself.

He laid on his side for a moment, wiping away his tears and rubbing his elbow, which he'd landed on—it was the only part of him that hurt physically, but the rest of him felt so weak that his bones might as well have all been broken.

It would be a long walk to the common room. He scooted himself closer to the wall and braced both hands against it, pulling himself to his feet. His legs were still shaking too much—he couldn't even stand for more than a few seconds.

Part of him wished he'd asked one of his friends to meet him here to help him, though he wasn't sure if they would have known the detention would last less than fifteen minutes. He thankful no one was going to see him like this, but at the same time, he really didn't know how he was going to get back to the dormitory.

Footsteps from around the hall. Neville let himself drop to his knees, releasing the wall in favor of wiping away the last remaining tear tracks.

Seamus came around the corner and hurried toward him. "That was quick."

Neville swallowed hard, his cheeks feeling a little warm. "How did you know?"

"I figured it'd be the Cruciatus. That or a beating. Neither takes long, but still, I thought you'd be a few more minutes, talking or something. Sorry I'm late."

Neville winced as he tried and failed to stand. "I didn't ask you to come."

Seamus knelt down in front of Neville, shaking his head. "You didn't have to, mate."

He held out a hand and helped Neville to his feet, then put an arm under his shoulders and began to slowly walk with him, no more than two steps every three seconds. Neville's legs still shook, but he could walk with Seamus's support.

Seamus cleared his throat. "How bad?"

Neville's eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly. "She cast it twice. Said she didn't want to break me today, but that it would be worse every time I came in."

"Does—does it still hurt?"

He didn't know how to describe it, not without Seamus ever having experienced the Cruciatus. "No," he said, but it didn't seem like a complete answer. "It's like my mind keeps expecting it to."

Seamus took a shaky breath. "You're a braver man than I am."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were. You walked here. Alone."

"I thought it'd be worse if I didn't." Not showing up would have been braver.

For a fleeting moment, Neville wanted to confess everything. The way he'd screamed and curled into fetal position; how he'd promised Carrow he'd do anything if she would just stop; his sobbing on the floor of her office. But he didn't say anything.

They'd reached the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. "Dumbledore," Seamus said, and the door swung open.

Neville half expected them to have done for him what they did for Ginny, and he braced himself for a crowd of people to applaud him or some other nonsense. Ginny seemed to have taken that well at the DA meeting, and it made sense for her, but it wasn't the type of greeting he wanted.

To his relief, though, the common room was almost empty. Only Ginny and Luna sat beside the fire.

"Luna, what are you doing here?" He'd never heard any specific rules about it, but he was pretty sure students weren't supposed to be in common rooms that weren't their own.

"I invited her," Ginny said. She hurried over and put an arm around Neville's other side. Seamus let go, and Ginny walked him the rest of the way to the fireplace. "And we asked everyone else if this space could be clear. We knew you'd want the space."

"And they just . . . did it?" He eased himself down on the couch, and Ginny sat down on the couch across from him.

"Of course." She shrugged. "They were all worried about you."

Neville relaxed back into the soft cushions as much as his nerves would allow, still being on edge. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let one of us be the one to get stuck in detention next time," Ginny said.

"I—I don't think I'm going to be able to avoid detention for the rest of the year."

"Not for the rest of the year. Just for the next time."

He sighed and nodded slowly.

Luna stood from her place beside the fire and sat down next to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "How is it?"

Neville shook his head. "I'm not in any pain, if that's what you're asking."

"Yes, you are."

His eyes stung, and he started to turn away from her, but Luna reached out and wrapped both arms around him, effectively turning his torso toward herself. He clung to her, shaking.

Luna didn't try to tell him it was okay, or that things would be alright. She didn't try to provide him with comforting words or reassurances. She didn't ask him to loosen his grip, either. She just held on, and he knew she wouldn't let go until he was ready.

When he had some measure of control over himself again, he relaxed his hold, and she let go. Seamus came over to sit on the other side of Ginny

He remembered what McGonagall had said about being honest and open with each other. He took a deep breath. "I'm doing better now," he said. "

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Ginny said.

"You're all going to face this sooner or later. You should know what's coming." He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. "I'm not going to try to describe the curse. You should know that after it's over, it doesn't hurt anymore, but while it's being cast, your muscles tense enough that the exertion wipes you out. If Seamus hadn't come for me, I don't know if I could have made it back to the dorm room."

It was silent for a moment.

"But I'm alive," he said. "And I'm not . . . damaged." He'd almost said he wasn't hurt.

Seamus reached forward and picked up a chocolate frog from a pile on the table in front of them, then held it out to Neville. "Eat. Lupin says it helps with everything."

Neville half laughed and accepted the chocolate. "Thanks."

It was quiet for a few minutes, save the crinkling of wrappers, as the four of them worked their way through the chocolate frogs. Neville appreciated the quiet. It was like his friends understood that there was nothing they could say to make it better, so they didn't try to say anything at all.

Try though he might, Neville could never have imagined having better friends to comfort him in his darkest moments. He could only hope he would be able to provide them with as much comfort when the time came that they needed him.


	9. The Quibbler

Being in a House other than Gryffindor hadn't been as much of a problem as Luna had thought. It turned out that everyone was as scared as she was. Being in Ravenclaw, specifically, also didn't turn out to be as helpful as she had hoped. Cleverness helped with tricky charms, but it didn't do nearly as much for complex defensive spells. They required a certain strength of mind, whereas Ravenclaw provided nimbleness and quickness of mind. In fact, defensive magic required quite a combination of skills and attributes.

As much as Luna loved the DA, the Room of Requirement wasn't her best environment for learning. The general mood changed by the week. Some meetings came in the wake of a prank Ginny pulled, or some heroic stunt Neville managed to succeed in, and hope was high. Some came shortly after members of the DA had just been punished, and half the meeting time was spent patching wounds.

And today's meeting came the day after Luna first experienced the Cruciatus.

Her mind had mercifully blocked most of the details regarding her detention the day before. She really couldn't remember what the pain had felt like. The others knew about it, and Ginny had walked her back to her common room and stayed with her until she could stop crying, but these days, that was all anyone did about the Cruciatus. Since his first detention, Neville had had it on five other occasions; Ginny had had it three times; Seamus had had it twice. It wouldn't have been right to say they were getting used to it, but it certainly didn't come as a shock anymore.

Still, it had come as a shock to Luna. Her mind kept drifting back to it, less traumatized over the past as she was terrified for the future. There was no way she would be able to avoid the Cruciatus for the rest of the year, and while experiencing it seemed to ease the fear of the unknown for some members of the DA, it only made the fear worse for her. In some sense, the fact that her mind had blocked the sharpness of the memories wasn't a mercy at all. It meant she could both fear the unknown and the known at the same time.

She'd never known pain like that, and she'd certainly never known it without being able to spend time with her father shortly after. Ginny's arms around her had been a comfort, and Luna didn't want to be ungrateful for her friends, especially since she'd never had friends before. She missed her father desperately, but no matter how much she needed him, bringing her father to her was beyond the scope of what the Room of Requirement could provide.

Today, spells she had long mastered weren't coming to her. They were working on producing Patronuses strong enough to send messages, and she couldn't get hers to form at all, even though she had been able to for quite some time. She couldn't hold any happy memories in her mind for long enough. It was especially embarrassing because she was supposed to be one of the instructors, one of the leaders of the DA, and she couldn't even perform the basic form of the spell.

"Hey. Doing okay?"

Neville stood behind her. She swallowed. "I'm fine," she said.

"You know this isn't forever, right?"

She shrugged.

"Harry's coming back for us."

"I know." She blinked a couple of times, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears if she kept them from falling. "I'm just . . . having a hard time with the spells."

"Remember our first DA meeting? None of us could do any of these spells."

She lowered her head. Neville liked to play this game to try to encourage them—reminiscing about better days. Sometimes it was comforting, and sometimes it was terrifying. Often the "good times" they were reminiscing about were times they had considered difficult then. It made her worry about how she might look back on these times one day if things got much worse.

Neville searched her face and seemed to sense her growing distress. He sighed. "Seen the Quibbler today?"

"Um . . ." She hadn't picked up the new issue this morning. The Quibbler took some effort to come by these days. They couldn't receive it by Owl in the morning mail in the Great Hall anymore. Possession of a single issue was punishable by the Cruciatus or expulsion.

When Snape had set the new rule against the Quibbler, the punishment for a first offense was mild—three strokes on the knuckles with a wand. Far from acting as a deterrent, it was a draw, a matter of pride. Every member of the DA had ordered a copy of the Quibbler the next day, thinking they couldn't all be punished. They were wrong, but it was more comical than intimidating as half of the student population of Hogwarts received the same punishment in the same day, right there in the Great Hall. The sting was considerable, but Luna didn't care, and neither did anyone else. They'd all been solemn in the moment, but they laughed after it was all over, and they made more progress in their next DA meeting than they ever had in a single meeting before.

But then Snape raised the stakes. While a few members of the DA were willing to take the risk in order to read the only reliable news about what was going on in the world, it wasn't worth doing so publicly, so it took a little effort to get a copy of the Quibbler secretly. Normally, Luna did so every day. Today she'd been distracted.

Neville smiled and handed her his copy. "Take a break," he said. "It'll help."

Luna nodded, and she retreated into an empty corner of the Room of Requirement to flip through the pages.

The front page advertised warnings about Death Eaters, and as promised, the first article was about some recent Death Eater attacks. Names of victims were listed, people who were killed and injured. The article listed wizards, witches, and muggles. She was thankful to see no one she knew, though the list of names still left her feeling quite haunted.

As usual, a few pages were filled with advertisements, though they took on a very different form as compared to usual, since most of the ads were for defensive artifacts and other similar items. There was also a PSA for a radio station that Lee Jordan had started, called Potterwatch.

There were short articles praising wizarding families that had put protective spells over the homes of their Muggle neighbors without their knowledge, and giving tips for how to do this. There were a couple of obituaries of people who had died as heroes in this fight. There was a short piece about Dumbledore, as there had been in almost every issue since his passing. There were photos and descriptions of known, dangerous Death Eaters that had been released from Azkaban, and advice for how to defend oneself.

She found herself beaming as she continued to skim through the pages. She began to read the articles her father had written in his voice, and it was like he was standing with her.

The longest article, though, was about Harry Potter. It basically said exactly what Neville had just been telling her—namely, that Harry was their best hope of winning this war—but it was more than that. It provided guesses about what types of things he might be doing, without giving any hints about where he might be. It suggested ideas of ways to help him, both indirectly through fighting the war on their own, and directly if anyone should happen to come across him.

Luna's throat choked up, and she felt hers eyes mist. She had hope for Harry's return, but she had much more faith in her own father, and this issue proved she'd been right to feel that way. She'd always believed in the Quibbler's articles, even the ones other considered crazy. Yes, he occasionally missed the mark. Secretly, she'd been reasonably certain that article about Sirius Black being a singer had been off, even before she knew more about Sirius.

But right now, she couldn't have been prouder of her father and what her family stood for.

Of course, the article worried her. The whole magazine did, and it did with every new issue. It was dangerous to be this outspoken about having faith in Harry, and every day, they heard more stories about Death Eaters making attacks and cracking down on those who spoke out against them. Her father was putting himself in quite a lot of danger.

All the more reason to train to fight. Her father had never been the strongest with defensive spells. She had to be able to protect him as well as herself, if it came down to it.

Luna set down the copy of the Quibbler and went to join the rest of the group. This time, she was ready.


	10. Detentions

It had been bound to happen sooner or later, but somehow, knowing that didn't lessen the shock when it did.

Neville knew he should consider himself lucky. They'd gotten through almost three months of the school year without having to refuse any orders in Dark Arts class. All of the lessons so far had been on Dark artifacts and items, with a short unit on Dark uses for magical creatures. But this was a seventh year course. They couldn't continue doing theory forever. The Slytherins were obviously growing more impatient with each passing day.

Amycus Carrow wore a devilish grin as he wrote the lesson topic on the board: "Unforgivables."

Neville's heart beat slow and hard, and he exchanged a glance with Lavender, who sat beside him. She had gone stiff and pale.

"The first question to consider," Carrow began, "is the term itself. Unforgivable." His eyes swept over the classroom. "Unforgivable to whom? Whose forgiveness are you owed for making use of the power that is rightfully yours? The _Ministry?_ "

Snickers broke out on the Slytherins' side of the classroom.

"So this term—" he underlined the term _Unforgivable_ — "is little more than a misnomer. Nevertheless, we will continue to use it for the time being, for the sake of clarity. Rest assured, though, that someday, this term will be obsolete."

Neville swallowed hard.

"I'm sure you all can name the three curses to which this term refers? Crabbe?"

Crabbe cleared his throat. "Cruciatus. Imperius. And the killing curse."

"Excellent. The most commonly useful of these, of course, is the Cruciatus. Both the killing curse and the Imperius curse are immensely useful in their ways, of course, but the Cruciatus will be most useful to us in this context. It is also, I find, the most enjoyable to perform, and the most effective in building your own power as a wizard. It will also be the easiest for us to practice, as it can be performed a surprising number of times on a single subject before the ill effects become permanent."

Neville was having a hard time keeping his arms from shaking. He suddenly wished he could be anywhere but here. It was one thing to be subjected to the Cruciatus alone in a professor's office, and quite another to be asked to practice performing the curse himself.

"The key to performing the curse successfully, of course, is desire. You must want to cause pain. You must _enjoy_ it. The stronger your desire, the greater the pain."

That was almost as encouraging as it was sickening. He wasn't going to be able to do it successfully even if he tried.

"Now then, let's not spend any longer on theory. Spells are best learned through practice."

Neville tensed, waiting for Carrow to bring out a box of rats or toads or spiders to serve as their victims. He remembered when Barty Crouch, Jr., disguised as Alastor Moody, had performed the Cruciatus curse on a spider in class during his fourth year. Neville didn't care much for spiders, but he still didn't think he could subject one to that kind of torture.

Carrow started to walk toward the side door of the classroom, which led to a prep room. "Most instructors would have you begin practice of this spell on animals, but I find they don't give the feedback desired." He opened the door. "Come on out!"

Neville felt like his nerves had all been set alight. Six students stepped out of the room. Five of them were younger, kids that Neville had seen around but didn't know. The sixth was Ginny.

_No. No, no, no . . ._

"These six have earned detention for direct defiance. As such, they have the honor of being our first test subjects."

Carrow guided them to line up at the front of the classroom, as the kids trembled—with the exception of Ginny, who held her head high and proud.

Then Carrow's gaze shifted to the back of the classroom. "You six in the last row, come to the front, bring your wands."

That meant Neville, Lavender, and four Slytherins. Wand in hand, Neville came to stand in front of Ginny, who gave him a slight nod. He couldn't bring himself to return her silent greeting.

"As I'm sure you all know, the incantation is _Crucio._ You may begin."

There was a terrible moment of anticipation, then the Slytherins began. One by one, their victims dropped to their knees. None screamed out in agony the way the victims of fully trained Death Eaters would have, but there were gasps and groans, and one girl shed a few tears.

Lavender glanced over at Neville, her eyes tearing up, then she looked at the younger student who cringed before her, waiting for the curse. Neville looked over at Ginny, who would have appeared completely calm to anyone who didn't know her, but he had learned her expressions well enough to realize she was panicking.

The two of them could quietly refuse to perform the curse, and who knew what would happen to them? But if Neville spoke out loudly, he might be able to spare Lavender and distract from the fact that she had done nothing.

Neville made a show of lifting his wand, then lowering it to place it in his pocket, whirling around to face Carrow. "No," he said.

Carrow let out a short laugh as he stepped toward Neville. "Beg your pardon, boy?"

"No. I won't."

The next thing Neville knew, he was on the floor. When his head slowed its spinning, his cheekbone throbbed, and his neck twinged. He pushed himself up onto all fours, gasping.

Carrow kicked him lightly in the ribs. "Get up."

The room swayed a little as Neville shifted his weight back onto his knees. Ginny held out a hand to help him up, but he ignored it and forced himself to stand on his own strength. He didn't want to get her in any more trouble than she was already in.

"I see a demonstration is in order."

"No, I—"

Carrow turned to face Ginny and pointed his wand. " _Crucio_."

In that moment, Neville knew that everything he'd ever heard about the Cruciatus curse being the worst pain a person could suffer was all wrong. He suddenly realized that the physical pain from the curse probably wasn't what had driven his parents to insanity. Watching the suffering of someone you cared about was so, so much worse.

Ginny let out a last scream from the floor as Carrow lifted his wand. He turned back to face the classroom, glancing over at the Slytherins who had made the feeble attempts at the curse, and many of the Slytherins applauded and cheered. For a moment, Neville thought he was going to vomit.

"That was the curse. Now, for the next part of the demonstration." He grabbed Neville by the back of his shirt and shoved him over to stand beside Ginny, facing him toward the classroom, like the others who had received detention. "Crabbe, Finnegan, join us at the front."

Seamus visibly shook as he walked to the front of the classroom, though Crabbe looked eager.

"Crabbe, take Weasley. Finnegan, take Longbottom." Carrow stepped back from them. "You may continue practice."

Crabbe immediately cast the curse, along with the four other Slytherins, and tears streamed down Ginny's cheeks. Lavender looked lost as she stared down at her cowering victim, who had had the good sense to drop to his knees like the others even though she hadn't cast the spell even once. Seamus lifted his wand, his eyes meeting Neville's.

"Do it," Neville mouthed.

Seamus shook his head, subtly, and Neville gestured to his wand, nodding.

" _Now_." The demonstration had had nothing to do with showing how to perform the curse, and everything to do with showing them what the results of defiance would be. If Seamus refused, Carrow would perform the curse on Neville, and Seamus would join the victims. Better for Seamus to feebly attempt the curse on Neville than to make things worse by refusing.

"No," Seamus said aloud.

This time, the other Slytherins up front turned to gasp, and Neville hung his head.

Carrow grinned. "You Gryffindor never learn."

"Not what you're teaching," Seamus said.

The punch caught Seamus squarely on the jaw, but this time, Carrow didn't wait for him to get up before turning his attention to Neville. His tone was almost bored as he said, "Crucio."

Neville didn't resist or tense. He dropped and let the waves of agony wash over him. There was nothing he could do.

When the pain had passed and he could wipe his tears away, he could see Carrow smirking, and Seamus pulling himself up to stand. For the first time, he felt no sympathy for Seamus. He was livid. Seamus knew what was coming, and he had made everything worse.

"Finnegan, join the others. Goyle, take Longbottom. Patil, take Finnegan. I trust I won't need to repeat my demonstration?"

The Slytherins nodded emphatically, and the Gryffindors hesitantly.

"Good," Carrow said. "Begin again, and this time, with feeling!"


	11. Forgivable Curses

Carrow gave a short lecture at the end of class, which gave all of the torture victims enough time to recover that they could all walk to their dormitories without needing to lean on someone. Neville stopped by a bathroom to check the mark on his cheek—thankfully, the skin wasn't broken—so he took longer to get back to the common room than most of the others.

The Gryffindor common room was mostly empty, though Ginny was standing next to the fireplace. He hurried over to her and threw his arms around her. She clung back just as tightly.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"You didn't know."

"Are you okay?" He rubbed her back.

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"Yeah." He let his breath out, and his hold on her relaxed a little. "I think I could get used to the Cruciatus, but what happened in there, watching everyone else go through it . . ."

"I could never get used to that, either." She let go, and her eyes shone. "This is going to happen again, Neville."

"I know."

Her voice sounded smaller than he had ever heard it: "What are we going to do?"

He looked down. "I haven't had a chance to think about it."

"Luna might have some ideas."

Neville nodded. He would have smiled, but he was still thinking about the next conversation he needed to have. "Have you seen Seamus?"

"He went up to the room. I think he was going to lie down."

Neville nodded and started toward the staircase.

"Neville?" Ginny called.

He turned back to face her.

"Seamus was trying to do the right thing."

Neville's teeth gritted, and he didn't say anything as he walked up to his room.

Seamus sat on his bed, staring off into space. He was the only one there. That made this easier.

Neville's blood boiled as his mind went over what had happened. " _Seamus_."

Seamus stood to face him, wearing a nasty bruise on his jaw. "There you are. For a minute, I thought Carrow held you back—"

"What was that about?"

Seamus blinked. "What?"

"Carrow showed us what would happen if we rebelled in class. And you did it anyway."

"I know, but . . ." Seamus shook his head. "What, was I supposed to give you the Cruciatus?"

" _Yes!_ "

"I couldn't do that to you, I—"

"But you could let Carrow do it to me? And then get it yourself?"

"Calm down, mate."

"Don't _tell me_ to calm down!" Neville grabbed a pillow off his bed and threw it against a wall.

"What if it had been some little first year? You want me to give the Cruciatus to a first year?"

"I don't know! It's better than letting Carrow do it!"

"But could you do it?"

Neville locked his hands behind his head and began to pace. "I—I don't know."

"What if it was me, huh? Could you give the curse to me?"

"I don't _know!_ But I wouldn't make an announcement out of my defiance like that, not right after Carrow showed what would happen."

"And why did you announce it?"

"Because I didn't think Lavender was going to do the spell, and I wanted to call the attention away from her."

"So what changed?"

" _Everything!_ Carrow showed us what would happen!"

"I'm _sorry_ , mate! I didn't know what to do! I just thought—you're the one who's always making these grand gestures, you're always talking about spreading hope. What if everyone in Gryffindor had refused to have anything to do with the curse? Wouldn't that . . . wouldn't it show what we're made of?"

"No, not if it makes things worse!"

"And what are you going to tell Harry if he comes back? When he asks what we've been up to? You gonna tell him we've been practicing the Cruciatus on first years?"

"You gonna tell him we left them to the Carrows?"

" _What was I supposed to do, Neville?_ "

For a moment, there was no sound but Neville's own breath, coming hard and fast. Neville forced himself to slow his breathing. It wouldn't do anyone any good if they were yelling at each other.

Seamus was still fuming. "I know I did the wrong thing, mate, but there wasn't a right thing!"

"I know," Neville whispered.

It was quiet.

Seamus sat down on the bed, and Neville sat beside him. "I shouldn't have yelled at you," Neville said softly.

Seamus didn't respond for a minute. When he did speak, his tone was gentle. "I'm not upset, mate, this whole thing—"

"I know. I'm not upset with you either."

"We're going to have to practice the Cruciatus in the DA."

"No," Neville said. "You were right. It will mean more if we all refuse to have anything to do with Dark Arts."

"Maybe. Or maybe it will mean more if we keep as many people as possible from getting hurt. If we can practice performing it badly—in a way that's convincing, but doesn't really cause much pain . . ."

"It'll look like we lost."

Seamus winced. "Yeah, it will, and they won't hurt us as much, which means we'll have won. Who cares what it looks like?"

"And what do we tell Harry when he comes back?" Neville asked.

"He's the one who ran away! You think he's going to come back and judge us?"

Neville sighed. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"I don't think he's coming back, mate. I know you think he's gonna come save us, but I think he's hiding." Seamus looked down at his hands. "I think we're on our own."

Another long silence. Neville had used Harry's impending return as a way of giving hope to his friends, but the more he thought about it, the more he worried that that was all it was—a way of giving hope. False hope.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't afford to think that way. He'd lose it, and too many people were counting on him to hold it together.

Seamus let out a short, quiet laugh. Neville raised his eyebrows and turned to face him.

"Remember when Harry and Ron came into Hogwarts in that flying car in second year?"

Neville laughed a little. "I was thrilled. Thought it was the most wicked thing I'd ever heard. My gran would've killed me if I pulled a stunt like that, though."

"Ron got a Howler in the Great Hall, didn't he?"

"I think so." Neville shook his head. "We thought second year was a crazy time."

Seamus shrugged. "It was. Remember when you got hung by a chandelier by Cornish pixies?"

"Oh, man. That was awful."

"Yeah." Seamus grinned. "For all that's happened this year, at least that hasn't."

This time Neville laughed full out. Seamus joined him, and just for a moment, it felt like things were back to the way they were. Like everything was going to be okay.


	12. The Spy

The Sneakoscope on Snape's desk was spinning nonstop. It almost always was. He only kept it around because he had confiscated it from a student who had been playing with it in class the year before, and it reminded him of how things were then. Students had hated him, but not in the way they did now.

The Sneakoscope was only supposed to spin when someone nearby was doing something untrustworthy, but trustworthy was such a relative term for Snape, it didn't seem to know how to handle itself. Snape himself was untrustworthy to everyone, in one way or another.

But something about the way it spun today gave him pause. It had picked up different modes for different types of deception, and today's was new.

He checked a couple of his other surveillance devices. It was his potions ingredients storage closet. Someone had broken in and was currently trying to steal something.

Normally, that would be an offense worthy of weeks of detention, if he caught the student. These days, he often didn't bother to catch them. Too often, it was a member of the DA trying to steal medical supplies. Failure to catch them gave him plausible deniability; catching them meant he had to punish them severely to keep his cover.

But today was a little different. A few idiotic Gryffindors had been caught putting up Christmas decorations that had flashed anti-Death Eater propaganda. The Carrows had left the miscreants to a small team of sadistic Slytherins who they were training as assistant punishers. There had been a lot of blood shed. Of course, Snape was quite happy to allow his medical supplies to be stolen, as long as he could keep everyone convinced of his own ignorance, but there was more to it than that.

Today, the injuries had been more severe than Snape had seen at Hogwarts in awhile, and he wasn't confident the kid would know what to grab.

There was nothing he could do about it. He forced his heart to harden. This was war, and the students knew it. There would be injuries. It was actually best for them if there were. It would train them to work through pain, to avoid freezing up with shock at the sight of blood, and to patch up injuries quickly.

He sat down at his desk, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the Sneakoscope, but closing his eyes filled his mind with the image of those kids, screaming and bleeding. Snape had been quite thankful for his years of practice in Occlumency; he was confident that his face, body language, voice, and conscious mind showed no sign of distress or sympathy in the slightest.

But some days, it filled his subconscious. It overwhelmed him. He couldn't stand the role he played. He had told Dumbledore he couldn't, but the old man always asked too much. And those kids' blood didn't just stain the walls and floors of Hogwarts. It was beginning to stain the inside of Snape's mind.

The Sneakoscope spun faster still.

He swore, picking the thing up and throwing it down on the floor. It didn't even have the good sense to break.

Snape stood and left his office, stalking to his potions stores. He was sick of doing nothing. Dumbledore _had_ asked too much of him.

It was Neville Longbottom. Snape should have guessed. And the boy was a mess. Deep split lip, scratches on both cheeks, defensive wounds on his knuckles.

He didn't even notice Snape coming until he was right beside him, and even then, he did nothing to defend himself. Just froze.

 _Gryffindors_.

Snape didn't think anyone was watching, but he didn't take any chances. He grabbed the boy by the ear and dragged him mercilessly toward his office. To his credit, the boy didn't drop any of the vials he had picked up, though he did wince and gasp all the way into the office.

Snape slammed the door shut, cast a silencing spell over the office, and held out his hands.

The boy stood, cowering.

"The vials. Now."

Longbottom handed over the vials in his hands, and his palm went up to massage his bright red ear.

Snape looked over each one, placing them side by side on his desk. The boy had made a good selection—quite a lot of Murtlap, as well as Bubotuber pus, Dragon liver, and Wormwood. Foolish boy—he couldn't even remember all of the ingredients in the simplest healing potion. "Dittany?"

Longbottom reaches into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out two bottles.

"Perhaps you're not as lost a cause as I thought." Snape took the two bottles and set them down beside the others.

The boy's weight shifted from one foot to the other. "Sir, I'm expected back at the common room in a few minutes. If you're going to punish me, can I please get it over with?"

Snape considered him for a moment. He'd been wrong about something else. He had once thought the Sorting Hat had made a mistake in putting Longbottom in Gryffindor, but the boy lived up to his House in every way. He was noble, he was reckless, and he had nerve.

His face didn't show much of that bravery, though. And ultimately, he would have to leave the office feeling much worse than he had when he came in. But for now, Snape might be able to help.

Snape swept up the vials and bottles into his hands and held them out in front of him. "Conceal these."

Longbottom stuttered. "I—"

" _Now_."

The boy took the vials and buried them in his robe pockets.

"Sit."

He lowered himself into the seat in front of the desk, though his knees shook a little as he did.

Snape walked around to one of his cabinets and rummaged inside for a tiny blue bottle and a rag. Longbottom's breathing quickened as Snape approached him with the supplies, and he gripped onto the armrests.

"Calm down," Snape said. "It's a pain potion."

"I know," he choked out.

Snape sighed. "Pain _relief_ , you half wit."

Longbottom's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes darted back and forth between the blue bottle and Snape's face.

"Hold still." Snape soaked a small portion of the rag in the potion, then brought it toward the boy's face.

He jumped out of his seat, backing toward the door.

"I'd prefer not to bind you, but I will if I must. Hold still."

He did then. He cringed against the door, but he allowed Snape to dab the solution onto his cheeks and lips. His muscles began to relax as the potion sank into his cuts.

"For pain relief only. No healing properties. There will be no evidence the potion was ever used."

The boy swallowed hard and took a step forward, away from the door. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not doing anything." Snape sealed up the bottle and placed both it and the rag back into the cabinet.

"You hate us. You killed Dumbledore. Why are you helping us?"

"I'm not." Snape reconsidered just before closing the cabinet, and picked back up the blue bottle. "You can take this, too."

"Are you going to punish me, then? For breaking into your stores?"

"Of course. Now do as I say and take the bottle."

Longbottom accepted the bottle and hesitantly placed it in his pocket. "Is this a trap?"

Snape only stared at him. He found it so tempting to tell him everything. To tell _someone_. But even with a silencing spell, it was too risky to speak so much of the truth aloud.

Longbottom's hands went to his pockets. "Do you want these back?"

"Were you listening to me?"

Fire filled the boy's eyes. "What are you trying to do? Make up for everything you've done wrong? You think this makes up for terrorizing me? For treating us unfairly? For _killing Dumbledore?_ "

Snape should have left well enough alone. This wasn't helping anyone. He might as well finish the conversation. He held up his wand in front of the child.

The boy's jaw pulsed. "Do what you will. I'm not afraid of you anymore. I'm not—"

" _Obliviate._ "

Longbottom's eyes went glassy. Snape had all of three seconds to regain his composure. He pocketed his wand and narrowed his eyes.

"What were you _thinking_ , boy?" He smacked the boy across the face, careful to aim a bit lower than the cuts, cupping his hand slightly so it would make a loud noise and convince him the punishment was genuine without causing much pain.

The boy's eyes snapped to attention, and he was cowering once again.

Snape didn't really want to discourage him from stealing from the stores in the future. It was a tough line to walk: threatening little enough punishment that there was no true deterrent, but enough that the marks left behind would serve as battle scars and inspire hope and camaraderie among the rebels. Enough that the kids still feared and despised him, as they always had and would always need to.

Snape landed a second blow, slightly harder than the first. This time the boy let out a whimper. "This offense is personal, Longbottom. Did you think I wouldn't see to your punishment myself? That I'd delegate to the Carrows when you had the audacity to steal from _me?_ Well, I can make you a promise. Steal from me again, and you can see yourself to a _month_ of detention in the Forbidden Forest."

One more blow. This one earned him a shout, and the child turned away, gripping his face. That would be enough. Snape couldn't do any more.

" _Get out!_ "

Longbottom scrambled to race out of the office.

Snape removed the silencing charm from his office and stepped over to the door, peeking out to see the boy heading down the hallway, never looking back. Longbottom didn't check his pockets to see what he'd been left—he'd figure it out when he was back in his dorm room.

He also didn't stumble or clutch his face. Maybe he hadn't been in as much pain as his performance suggested. Maybe he was learning.

A short thrill of pride arose in Snape as he watched the boy—or rather, the man—before him. He was brave in a different way than Snape had ever had to be, a leader in his own right, and evidently growing to be more clever than Snape could ever tell him he was. Maybe, between Snape, Longbottom, Dumbledore's Army, and Potter's crusade, there was hope of defeating the Dark Lord after all.

Maybe one day, when this was all over, Snape could explain himself to Longbottom, and tell him about what he had tried to do. Snape didn't expect to be forgiven, but at least he could tell him how proud he was of the hero the once-foolish boy had become.


	13. Comfort and Healing

Neville let his hands run along the many bottles in his pockets as he made his way to the Room of Requirement. His heart still pounded, and his face stung a little, but he had what he needed.

As helpful as the Room of Requirement had been for keeping them safe and undetected from others, and for providing some basic supplies, there were limitations to its power. It couldn't give them food or medical supplies, which meant they still needed to steal what they needed.

All things considered, Neville had gotten lucky when he'd broken into Snape's potion storage. He'd gotten caught, but he had survived without a mark. He'd long suspected Snape's bark was worse than his bite, but there was a time when Snape's insulting words had hurt Neville terribly. Now, he could honestly say he didn't care what Snape thought of him. So much of the fear disintegrated when he was able to maintain confidence in himself.

And Neville had realized something else about Snape—he wasn't a true sadist. Snape wasn't squeamish about causing pain, but he didn't feed on it or even particularly enjoy it for its own sake, and his tendency was to try to evoke fear rather than agony. Neville supposed that was why he dressed and spoke the way he did, and why he always threatened them with the Forbidden Forest rather than detention with the Carrows. If anyone ever let it slip to Snape that no one in Dumbledore's Army was afraid of going into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, they'd all be in huge trouble.

Like they had been today. A few younger DA members had been caught putting up those Christmas decorations, and Luna had called an emergency meeting for anyone who needed healing. It was going to be a rough time. It was easy to convince a child, especially a Gryffindor, that their long-healed battle scars were worth celebrating. It was much harder to convince them that their excruciatingly painful open wounds made them heroic. The worst was when they were still crying.

Despite the reason for the meeting, Neville was in high spirits. There were no Christmas decorations in the castle, but there would be in the Room of Requirement. And as much as Neville had come to enjoy the instructional meetings, he found it stressful to teach a topic he still struggled with so much himself. Healing was much more his forte. He might had enjoyed teaching much more if it were something he knew a lot about, like Herbology. Actually, that might be something to consider for the future . . .

One step at a time. First, he had to survive this year. And for right now, he had friends to heal.

"I'm back," Neville said as he entered the Room of Requirement.

It was about what he had expected. Sparkling ornaments and garland hung magically in the air, and there were evergreen trees in two corners sparkling with enchanted lights. But the edges of the room were lined with cushions, chairs, and beds, depending on how each injured person needed to be situated. A couple of kids were crying, but most seemed to be doing okay. A few of the injuries looked pretty bad, though.

Ginny ran up to Neville. "You didn't get caught!"

"Well, I did, but Snape let me off with a few smacks."

She raised one eyebrow. "Really?"

"That, and a death threat."

She nodded. "That sounds more like Snape. Did he search you, or did you get to take the potions?"

"Check this out." He started taking the bottles and vials out of his robe. "Everything we need for a basic healing potion."

"What's this one?" Ginny held up a blue bottle.

Neville squinted as he looked at the label. "Looks like some sort of topical numbing potion."

"Oh, that's a great idea."

"It's funny, I don't even remember picking that up."

She gave him a look. "You don't remember?"

He shrugged. "You know me. I forget things." It did seem a little odd to him, but he was used to it. Besides, he'd been pretty flustered when he was digging through the supply closet. The whole experience was a bit of a blur in his mind.

"Well, it was a good call," she said. "It'll be suspicious if we heal too much between punishments, but that doesn't mean we have to suffer through the pain."

"That's what I'm thinking. Get started?"

"I'll start working on the potion brewing, since that's not your strong suit," Ginny said. "You help Luna, start doing some healing with the supplies we already have."

"On it."

Neville walked over to where Luna was sitting amid a circle of four second-years, the youngest kids in the room, but he was surprised to see that she wasn't doing anything to heal them. She was telling them stories, talking animatedly with her hands. The younger students' eyes were wide and fixed on her, their injuries forgotten.

Neville smiled to himself. Luna had an odd way about her, but at the end of the day, she often knew what she was doing better than the rest of them.

He sized up the situation with the four kids she was distracting from their pain. One of the four didn't have any visible injuries, which meant they were either all internal or all under his clothes—that was nice, because Neville could heal him completely. One had a bad bruise on her left cheek—Neville could heal any injuries on the inside of her mouth, but he'd have to leave her face as it was. One had a split lip and a black eye—Neville wouldn't be able to do much of anything for him, except for the pain itself. And the fourth was a mess all over, bleeding from his face and hands. Neville was pretty sure he could do a little bit more for him, and at least partially heal many of the wounds. There were enough of them that it would be difficult for the Carrows to tell the difference.

Neville collected the supplies he'd need for the four of them, and started patching up the fourth kid, since he was bleeding the most. The kid barely acknowledged Neville's presence, focusing instead on Luna's story, which was how Neville wanted it. Some of the healing potions stung, and some of the healing procedures could be intimidating to younger kids. It was better if they were distracted.

As Neville worked, his mind wandered to his plans for the coming week. They'd be headed to their respective homes for their holiday break soon. Neville had been pretty vague in telling his grandmother what was going on at Hogwarts. He wasn't concerned about worrying her, exactly. Actually, it was almost the opposite. He was afraid she'd second guess all of his decisions, berate him for every wrong decision, and chip away at his confidence.

It would be a relief to be away from the Carrows for a little while, but looking around at the number of injuries in the room, Neville was also worried about leaving everyone behind. There were plenty of kids who wouldn't be going home, and Neville wouldn't be there to protect them or heal them afterward. Neither would Ginny or Luna.

But he couldn't protect them all of the time. If whatever Harry was doing didn't lead to Voldemort's ultimate defeat this school year, everyone would still have to come back and face Snape and the Carrows again next year. And Neville would have graduated by then. They had to learn to do without him. And they would be fine—he'd make sure they knew not to try anything risky until the bulk of the older students returned.

Besides, the holiday would only be for two weeks. It wasn't as if anything catastrophically disastrous could happen in two weeks.


	14. On the Train

Ginny settled into the train car on the Hogwarts Express, beside Luna and across from Neville and Seamus. Their departure from Hogwarts had been rough, as they had to leave many of the younger DA members behind with little defense, and she knew their arrival back at home would be jarring, as they saw firsthand the effects that Voldemort's reign was having on their families. It was one thing to hear news via the Owl Post, and quite another to have to experience it.

But the Hogwarts Express was a momentary oasis from all of that. They didn't even have any wounds to remind them of the pain that had been. Before they'd left, they had all healed their remaining injuries entirely. There was no reason why they shouldn't. Snape and the Carrows wouldn't see them for a couple of weeks, so it was feasible that the injuries would have healed naturally during that time.

Isolated from the Slytherins in the other compartments, seats piled high with treats from the trolley, it was easy to forget that the world was crumbling around them. Ginny—and she suspected the others in her compartment as well—had never needed a break so badly. Even in Hogwarts, they'd been able to find momentary escape by playing "Remember when" with each other. Now, they could reminisce for as long as they wanted without being interrupted.

Seamus was chattering away, telling stories from their first year, before Luna or Ginny had even been. "—Malfoy was so bad that year, I guess he'd cast, what was it, a leg lock charm on you?"

"Yeah," Neville said.

"Then at the next Quidditch game, Neville goes and tells Malfoy, right to his face, _I'm worth twelve of you._ "

"Wasn't my idea!" Neville was doubled over laughing. "It was something Harry told me to try to make me feel better after the leg lock charm. But me, I had to go and _repeat it_. And then that story spread all over the school, and _everyone_ knew—"

"You Gryffindors." Luna smiled and shook her head.

"Not exactly my smartest move." Neville laughed. "Malfoy was so much worse after that. I was an idiot."

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe you're not book smart, but you're not stupid."

Neville picked up another chocolate frog. "Maybe I'm not, but I was. Remember the year the basilisk was attacking kids in the school. I went and bought all these things to protect myself. I had a green onion, and this purple crystal—"

"Those crystals work," Luna said.

"—and a newt tail that had started rotting. It was disgusting."

Ginny was able to smile and laugh at that. As little as a year ago, it would have been too difficult to laugh about what had happened that year, but she had come a long way, and she didn't blame herself anymore. Sixteen was old enough to realize how young and innocent eleven was.

"And then there was the year Sirius Black was trying to get into the castle, and I went and left a list of all the passwords to the Gryffindor tower lying around."

"I remember that!" Ginny cried.

"My gran just about killed me for that one, whatever was left of me after McGonagall was done. I deserved it."

"Okay, but in fairness, it wasn't your fault," Seamus said. "Sir Cadogan shouldn't have let a known serial killer into the tower just because he had the password."

"They don't have a choice," Luna said. "It's how they work."

"That's right mad," Seamus said. "They've got to think of something better. Neville forgets the password and he can't get into the dorms by curfew, but You-Know-Who can get in if he can get the password from some first year who doesn't know better?"

"It's not that easy for outsiders to get into the castle, you know," Neville said.

"I know, I'm just saying, ID cards would be safer than passwords."

"ID cards? You are _such_ a muggle-born," Neville said, and they both erupted into laughter once again.

Over the loud talking and laughing, Ginny thought she heard a loud bang coming from the next car. "Hang on, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Be quiet for a second."

They were all silent. The only sounds that could be heard were the hum of the train engine and muted chatter from the nearest compartments.

Seamus shook his head. "I don't hear any—"

There was a loud explosion and a sudden clamor of voices. Ginny stood to peek out the window of their compartment.

Death Eaters.

Ginny didn't even have time to warn the others before one of them caught her eye. He glanced past her, then behind himself. "That's the one!" he called. "Grab her!"

Ginny had her wand out in as much time as it took the group of Death Eaters to descend on their compartment. She had time to Stun two of them, block one curse, and dodge another, before one cast a Cruciatus that brought her to her knees, screaming, the world black.

She had to pull herself out of this. She had to stand, to fight . . . but the pain took her. It was worse than when the Carrows cast it. She was vaguely aware of tears streaming down her cheeks, and the hoarse burning in her throat that would go on even when the curse was over. Even when the pain abruptly stopped, she couldn't get to her feet, couldn't see, couldn't even think.

She managed to open her eyes in time to see one of the Death Eaters carrying out an unconscious Luna. Seamus was already unconscious in the seat beside her. Neville chased behind the Death Eaters, throwing out curses that were all easily blocked, until one of the Death Eaters cast a Cruciatus on him. Neville dropped to the floor, writhing, as the man laughed.

"Let's go!" The man who held Luna in his arms signaled to the others

"No!" Ginny scrambled to her feet and ran after them, but with a _crack!_ they Disapparated.

And the train car was quiet.

Ginny stood, frozen. It had all happened so fast, so suddenly. Obviously, it had been a directed attack. They'd been specifically looking to take Luna. Of all people . . . why _Luna?_

Neville pulled himself up. Ginny would have helped him into the train compartment, but she was barely holding herself up as it was, so she let him use the walls of the narrow passageway to support himself instead.

"W-why her?" Ginny whispered.

"They must have her father," Neville said. "My guess, the Quibbler has probably been too outspoken these days. They think Luna's father knows something, and they want information."

Ginny felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. This could happen to any of them if their parents were deemed to know too much. Ginny knew her parents were strong enough to hold out if someone took it into their mind to torture them—though thinking about it made her sick—but she had no idea what her parents would do if Death Eaters tortured her or any of her brothers in front of their eyes.

"W-we have to save her!" Ginny's voice cracked.

Neville stared at her for a moment, then his head lowered. "We can't, Ginny. We have no idea where they've taken her. We wouldn't even know where to start."

"We have to try!"

"We _can't._ We have to stay at Hogwarts."

Ginny's eyes stung yet again. "My brother left Hogwarts! So did Harry!"

"And they're counting on us to take care of the school until they can come back."

"You really think they're coming back?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

Ginny didn't know what to think. And if she was honest with herself, Harry and Ron were the last people on her mind right now. She kept thinking about Luna. The image of the Death Eater carrying her away was stained into her mind.

But she knew Neville was right. There was absolutely nothing they could do.

Neville took another step toward her, and she collapsed into his arms. Her shoulders shook with sobs, and his tears wet her hair.


	15. Two Captives

Luna's eyes fluttered open in the cold darkness.

It wasn't _physically_ cold, or at least not unbearably. It would have been difficult to explain the chill. It was an emotional emptiness, a hopelessness. Desperate loneliness, like she would never feel the warmness of friends again

 _Dementors_ , she decided. There must have been dementors nearby. Fitting, for a prison run by Death Eaters.

Luna sat up and assessed her surroundings. It was a little dungeon-type cell with a stone floor and walls. Silent enough to be suspicious, so there was probably a silencing spell over it. There was a large bundle of cloth in one corner, but the remainder of the space was empty.

She wasn't quite sure how long she'd been down here—it could be difficult to gauge time after being knocked out by magic—but memories began to flood in. The train. The Death Eaters. The fight. Her friends coming after her, dueling enemies for her as she was being dragged out, barely conscious.

She half smiled at that thought. She hadn't doubted they were real friends, but after that, she was more certain than ever.

Her smiled faded as she realized that they wouldn't come after her. Not if they were smart. They were Gryffindors, which meant they were reckless and sometimes didn't think things through, but this year, they'd had to learn to think in order to survive. The only thing more frightening to Luna than the thought that no one was coming for her, was the thought that her friends might abandon Hogwarts to try.

They wouldn't make it far even if they did. No, there would be no help for her. She had to try to make her own way out of here. She first searched her own person and found that she had nothing with her except her clothing, certainly not a wand. She then paced the outer edges of the room—there was no discernible entrance or exit, which meant the door had probably been masked somehow using magic. Finally, she crouched down beside the bundle of fabric to see if there was anything inside.

The bundle moved.

She jumped back, and an old man sat up slowly, his tattered, filthy robes falling into place and uncovering his head. She didn't have to ask to know he'd been there for quite a bit longer than she had. His bones stuck out in his hands and face, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, and he had a haunted look. It was a bit like the look she'd seen in Neville's eyes after his worst detentions, but to a whole new severity.

"Who's there?" the man rasped, his voice barely as loud as a whisper.

It was then that she realized she recognized him. Almost any student at Hogwarts could have, if they could see past the torture and emaciation. "You're Mr. Ollivander."

Ollivander blinked as he looked up at Luna, as if he weren't quite seeing her. "And you're young."

"Not so young." Luna didn't feel young at all, not after a term at Hogwarts under the Carrows. She came to sit beside the broken man. "I was at Hogwarts."

"Fourth year? Fifth?"

"Sixth."

He nodded. "The students get younger every year."

"Not this year. The Carrows are running the school."

"Death Eaters?"

"Yeah." She glanced around the room, again disheartened by the lack of doors, then she looked back over at Ollivander. "Why are you here?"

He coughed a couple of times, his whole frame shaking. "Same reason you're here. The Dark Lord believes I know something, and he wants to know." His head lowered. "Trouble is, I don't."

Luna pressed her lips together. She didn't know anything, so either her case was similar to his, or she was here for a different reason. She had heard of children being taken to get their parents to talk, but those had been distant rumors. Now they snapped into reality for her. She didn't have to wonder what it was the Dark Lord wanted with her father. It was all right there in the Quibbler.

"What is it that you know, Not-So-Young?"

She took a deep breath. "Nothing. But my father . . ."

Ollivander's eyes fell closed. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Luna shifted her weight on the stone floor. "How long have you been here?"

"Ah, I've been in here for . . . well, I can't say. No sunlight, you see? I can't even count the days. But I believe it's been months. Maybe years."

She swallowed. "When were you taken?"

"July. 1996."

Her breath left her lungs. She didn't want to tell him he'd been locked away for seventeen months. She didn't want to say it aloud—it would only confirm her fears for herself. "Have you met many other prisoners?"

"No. Just me."

"I guess you're happy to have some company."

His brow furrowed. "Given the circumstances, I don't think anyone would be happy for that, my dear."

He was worried for her. He'd been here for seventeen months, being starved and tortured, and he was worried for _her_. "I've had the Cruciatus before," she said softly. She wasn't even sure why she said it. She didn't know who she was kidding, or who she was reassuring.

He raised his eyebrows. "Cast by Death Eaters?"

"Yes. That's what they do for detentions at Hogwarts these days."

"I didn't realize things had gotten to that point." He winced. "I suppose I should have."

"It's okay. It was . . . good for me. I wouldn't have been prepared to be here."

" _Nothing_ can prepare you to be here." He looked past her, and his eyes took on a hollow look. "There's no day, no night, no time. You don't even feel the hunger after awhile. Just the darkness and the pain, and there's no reason to fight even that. No reason to live."

Luna wondered how long it would take her to get to that point. "I'll be more worried if they never come to torture me."

" _Why?_ "

"Because every time they torture me, that means my father stood up to them. And I'd rather that than to be safe."

He smirked. "You're a Gryffindor."

She shrugged. "Ravenclaw."

" _I'm_ a Ravenclaw. You? You're both. You must have given the Sorting Hat quite a challenge."

There was a bit of a pause. He was beginning to drift into his hollow daze again, but she wasn't sure what to say to comfort him, nor how long she could expect to keep doing so. They could be in this place together for a very long time. Then again . . . "We won't be in here forever, you know."

"And how would you know?"

She looked down at the floor, then back up at him, waiting until his eyes locked onto hers. "I've got this friend at Hogwarts who's always saying Harry Potter's going to come back for us. That he's going to fight the Death Eaters and save us all." She shook her head. "But I don't think Harry's coming back to save us from the Death Eaters. I don't think he's hiding, either. I think he's going to defeat You-Know-Who. Then the Death Eaters will have no one to follow. And then we'll be rescued. Maybe not by Harry, but by someone."

"You've got spirit, I'll give you that. They'll have a tough time breaking you." Ollivander sat up a little straighter. "You got a name, Not-So-Young?"

"I'm Luna Lovegood."

He nodded slowly. "Nine and three quarter inches. Ebony. Unicorn hair core." The barest hint of a smile crept into his eyes. "I remember it well."

"So do I." She patted the pocket where she usually kept her wand.

"The carvings on the surface were one of a kind. It was a very special wand."

"It was. I'll miss it."

He reached out to place a hand on hers. His skin was surprisingly soft, even though his fingers were little more than bone. "I'll make you a new one if we ever get out of here."

She smiled gently. "That's reason enough to live."


	16. No News and Good News

Neville's insistence to Ginny that they couldn't look for Luna was all talk at the moment he said it. Yes, in his mind he knew there was no use, but in his heart, he had every intention of looking for her. He would check the news every day, listen to the radio, write to everyone he knew to try to find out where she'd been taken.

His gran picked him up from the train station. She nagged at him about the state of his clothing and his need for a haircut, about his posture while he sat in the car and the way he dragged his suitcase into the house. He knew better than to answer back. She was no Carrow, but he'd been on the receiving end of enough of her cuffs to the head to be willing to hold his silence. If he could make it happen, he wanted to get through the entire winter holiday without getting hit. An entire two weeks without so much as a slap sounded too good to be true.

He didn't waste any time when they arrived at the house. He went straight to his room, pulled out a stack of parchment, and went to work writing letters to people who might have seen her. He was careful about the words he used, speaking vaguely enough that it wouldn't matter if the letters were intercepted by Death Eaters

He also cast a spell on the Galleon to display a longer message this time, letting everyone in the DA know what had happened to Luna. They had the right to know.

Gran knocked on the door to his bedroom, and opened it when he didn't reply after a couple of seconds. "Dinner's on the table."

"Not hungry," he said without looking up from the letter he was writing.

Something about the way he said it must have let Gran know he meant it. She didn't pester him to come to the table. Late that night, when his hunger drew him to the kitchen, he found a heating charm had been placed over a full plate at the dinner table.

He smiled and sat to eat. "Thanks, Gran."

"Don't expect that every night," was her only reply.

* * *

Neville went to visit his parents at St. Mungo's on Christmas, like he always did. He brought them some homemade cookies that he'd burned slightly, since Gran had been too tired to help him bake them.

When Gran left him alone for a few minutes, he looked his mom in the eyes. "My friend is in trouble, Mom. What do I do?"

Her eyes wouldn't focus on his. They kept glazing off into the distance.

"Please. Just . . . give me something. I'm your son." He knew better than to think that someday, she'd start to remember him just because he kept coming back. She were too far gone—there was nothing left of her.

It almost made him angry this time, a different kind of angry than he had ever been. He'd had the Cruciatus now. Granted, he hadn't experienced for anywhere near as long as his parents had, but that only enabled the illusion in his mind that he could keep some promise to himself never to let go of his mind, never to find himself in the state they were in. They had abandoned their own minds, and abandoned him.

He knew that was harsh, and wrong, and dishonoring to the sacrifice they had made. He knew. But it didn't stop the anger from boiling inside of him, just for a moment.

When Neville was little, he used to argue with Gran that he didn't want to go to the hospital to visit his parents. She told him the truth about what had happened around the time he received his Hogwarts letter. For some reason, hearing the truth made eleven-year-old Neville think he could cure them with enough prompting. He begged his parents to remember him, and he finished every visit with tears for awhile. Gran would take him home and hold him for minutes on end while he cried.

He hadn't cried at a visit with his parents since he was twelve. Today, he wanted to, but the tears wouldn't come.

Gran peeked in the door. "Ready to go?"

Neville wasn't, but there was nothing more he could do here.

"Alright, Neville." Her voice was gentler than he'd heard it in years, and she came over to take him by the arm. "Time to go."

He nodded, and she led him out of the building. He was too old to cry in her arms, but she reached over to rub his shoulder when they got in the car, and she pulled him into a quick hug when they were safe in the house, before letting him disappear into his room for the remainder of Christmas day.

* * *

Neville checked the Post every day, sifting through the letters before Gran could get a chance to check them. Once, he snatched the letters from the table as Gran had been reaching to pick them up, earning himself a sharp smack to the head. He barely felt the sting, but the frustration was greater than ever.

It didn't matter who had gotten to the letters first, anyway. There was no news of Luna. A few of the people he had written responded to his messages, but they didn't have any information for him. His anxiety grew with each passing day.

"Your head's in the clouds," Gran snapped at Neville over dinner, the night before he had to head back to Hogwarts.

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"Do you, now?"

He seethed. "My friend was kidnapped off the Hogwarts Express."

It was quiet for a little while.

Neville finished eating as quickly as he could and stood with his plate.

"You're lucky to be at Hogwarts, you know. I hear Harry Potter's off fighting the war for us."

Neville dropped his plate into the sink a little harder than he'd meant to.

"Careful with that!" she barked.

"I'm not Harry Potter, Gran! Do you even know what's _happening_ at Hogwarts?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No, I do not."

"Death Eaters are running the school. You knew that much, didn't you? Knew Snape had taken it over and hired Death Eaters as professors. I'm running Dumbledore's Army—that's that defense club that Harry Potter started to make sure everyone could defend themselves against an attack. You know what happens when we get caught rebelling against the Death Eaters? We get beaten, or we get the Cruciatus. But you didn't know any of that."

"That's true."

"Because you don't care about what's happening to us. You only care about what's happening to Harry Potter."

"No, it's because you haven't written in months. The only news I get is from the Quibbler."

"It's probably _because_ of the Quibbler that they kidnapped Luna! She's Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter."

Gran was silent. She didn't say anything for the remainder of the evening, but the helping of pie she brought up to his room and placed on his desk without a word was the largest he'd ever been served in his life.

* * *

On the first day of the new term, the Carrows were so bad that Neville doubted for a moment that Luna's situation could be much worse than theirs. Then he chided himself for even thinking something so hideously lacking in perspective.

Even at Hogwarts, no news of Luna came. For a couple of days, Neville received no letters at all. Then a few replies to his past letters, with no information.

But a letter from Gran came, three weeks into the term. He took it into his dorm room to read it, just in case the words were sharp enough to make his eyes water.

_Neville,_

_Death Eater came after me today. He's in the hospital now. I'm on the run. Don't write for awhile._

_I've enclosed clippings from the last twelve issues of the Quibbler. Good news about victims who were kidnapped but found and recovered from injuries._ _Never lose hope._

_This war will end, and we will win it._

_You are doing good work. I could not be more proud of you._

_With love,_

_Gran_

Neville had been right to read the letter in the dorms when no one was around. His eyes watered, and then overflowed.

He was happy to be the son of his parents, openly proud of them. He'd done his grandmother an injustice. He'd been so focused on her inability to say aloud that she was proud of him. Meanwhile, he'd never even thought to be proud of her.

He skimmed the news clippings, but went back to the the letter again, and again, and again, until he had memorized her words. Even once they were memorized, he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. Every time he felt the crinkling paper, he remembered her pride and faith in him, and it filled him with warmth and confidence.

The next day, when he changed his clothes, he transferred the letter into the pocket of his clean uniform. He didn't want to be without it again.


	17. An Example

As bad as the first few weeks of the new term were, there was one upside: the terror was inspiring. Attendance at the DA meetings had never been higher.

Neville still checked the post every day, multiple times a day, and he still wrote letters to everyone he could think of who might know where Luna had ended up, but there was never any news.

So he poured himself, heart and soul, into the DA lessons. He rehearsed pep talks in front of the mirror when no one else was around in the dorm room. He spent hours practicing new spells to teach, and he agonized over how to get through to each and every student who struggled. He even got Ginny and Seamus together between meetings to work on casting the Cruciatus—they got to the point where they could cast it in such a way that it only caused a bit of heat in the skin, and almost no pain at all, but occasionally they also practiced realistic reactions—sometimes, that ended in fits of laughter, which was a welcome escape and a necessary release.

On one of those afternoons, though, Neville stopped laughing abruptly a moment after he had begun. Guilt flooded through him. How dare he feel happiness when Luna was still missing? He could feel the note from his gran in his pocket—would she be proud of him for enjoying himself at a time like this?

Ginny frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Just . . . thinking about Luna."

She nodded slowly. "You know, you can still laugh sometimes."

"She's probably being tortured."

"And you're doing everything you can to find out where she is so that we can rescue her."

Neville squeezed his eyes shut. "I've found out nothing."

"It's okay, mate," Seamus cut in. "We're going to save her when you do. She knows you'd never give up on her."

"And in the meantime?"

Ginny took a deep breath. "You keep living. You go to your classes and set an example for the others, you teach DA classes, you enjoy time with your friends in the moments when you can. That's what Luna would want you to do."

"How do you know?"

"Because Merlin forbid, if anything should happen to me, that's what I would want." She looked Neville deep in the eyes. "If I'm taken, you _keep living_. And if I die, I never want you to feel like you shouldn't still laugh with your friends after the dust settles. You can wish I was there with you, but never feel _guilty_ for being happy."

Neville nodded slowly, then looked over at Seamus. "Hey. Remember in fourth year, when I accidentally transplanted my ears onto a cactus in transfiguration class?"

A slow grin broke out across Seamus's face, as Ginny cried out, "You did _what?_ "

"You heard me," Neville said.

"That's sick. Did it hurt?"

"Surprisingly, no. Putting them back on my head, though, that was hell."

Ginny burst out laughing, and Neville and Seamus joined her.

* * *

But that was a brief, shining moment in the midst of the battle that was the first month of the spring term.

The team of Slytherins that the Carrows had instated as punishers had taken to publicly chaining up first years. Neville personally thought it was a bit of an improvement on their usual punishments, since it caused minimal physical pain, but Ginny pointed out that it scared the life out of them, which, for a first year, was worse than pain.

The DA was as active as ever in their fight. They posted graffiti and propaganda about Luna's disappearance. They also sent teams of students on secret missions to rescue first years who had been chained up.

In the wake of one of the rescue missions, Snape called an emergency assembly. That was a first, and Neville didn't want to think about what it could mean.

He didn't have long to wait. They all gathered at the tables in the Great Hall, but it was an hour after dinner, so the table surfaces were empty. The Hogwarts staff were gathered at the front table. Most of them looked as terrified as Neville felt. Snape sat among them, wearing an expression that Neville had never learned to read.

It was Amycus Carrow at the podium.

"It has come to our attention—" His voice caused the whispers and murmurs in the Great Hall to die down to silence— "that some of you still believe that Hogwarts is a battleground between Light and Dark, and that the Light is winning."

The door burst open, and Alecto Carrow strode into the hall leading her team of Slytherins, who were dragging one student along with them. Michael Corner.

Michael had been the head of the team that had gone to rescue the first years who had been chained up this week. Neville had never heard back from them. They must have been caught—or, at the very least, Michael had been.

Neville didn't know Michael too well. He was in the same year as Neville, but in Ravenclaw, which meant he held his own pretty well in DA meetings, and Neville didn't spend a lot of time working with him like he did for the younger students. Ginny's face was white as a sheet, though—she had dated Michael for a little while. And Neville figured Luna would have been as horrified, since they were in the same house.

"We are gathered here today to put an end to those notions," Amycus Carrow said.

The Carrows stood on either side of Michael, whose muscles cringed even as he stood tall and firm.

" _Crucio_ ," they both said, and Michael lasted almost a full second before a shout escaped him.

It was nothing like the other times Neville had seen the Cruciatus performed. His own experiences with it had never lasted more than a few seconds, but this must have been minutes. For a long time, there were no sounds other than Michael's cries, but then Neville heard a soft sob beside him, and turned to see Ginny crying. He took her into his arms, and she buried her face in his shoulder and shook in his arms.

Michael just kept screaming, face coated in tears. He thrashed on the floor, beating his arms and legs against the ground, curling into fetal position, then stretching out of it. It was like he was trying everything in his power to ease the agony, and nothing was helping.

Ginny pushed away from Neville suddenly. " _Stop!_ " Ginny screamed at the Carrows, tears streaming down her cheeks. " _STOP!_ "

Neville's heart nearly stopped—he was sure they were going to turn on her and give her the same treatment, but they merely laughed and continued to cast the spell on Michael.

Neville didn't know how long it was before they let Michael go. He never passed out, but maybe that was part of the Cruciatus—it didn't allow its victims to escape. Michael had screamed himself so hoarse that little more than a whistle escaped his throat in the last few seconds of the curse. He couldn't stand, but the Carrows stood aside and let a few Ravenclaws onto the platform to collect Michael and half-walk, half-carry him back to their table. They were crying as hard as he was.

The Carrows had figured it out. Figured out what wasn't true for them. Watching the pain of a friend was worse than pain itself. And if they knew that, they held all of the cards. There was nothing the DA could do.

They had to stop fighting.

Amycus Carrow returned to the podium, and looked out over the crowd of students. "Let this be an example," he said.

A long silence, punctuated only by a few sobs from the Ravenclaw table and a couple of snickers from the Slytherins.

"To your dormitories," he said, and the tables began to clear.

The traffic of students walking in the corridors moved slower than Neville had ever seen. It wasn't that the space was crowded. It was that they all walked as though they carried the weight of the world with them with each step.

Seamus kept sneaking glances at Neville's face as they walked. When they reached the Gryffindor common room, he turned to Neville and whispered, "What now?"

"What do you think?" Neville almost couldn't hear his own voice, it was so soft, but by the look on Seamus's face, he had understood.

"We're done," Seamus said.

The Carrows had talked about wanting to break them slowly. Neville had thought that that meant they had a chance of making it through unbroken, but he had never been so wrong. They had been broken.

They were finished. The only thing left to do was wait.

"Harry will come," Neville said.

"He's not coming, mate."

"He has to."

"Neville—"

" _He'll come, Seamus_."

Seamus hung his head and left the common room.

When he was sure no one was looking, Neville let a few tears fall. Harry would save them. He had to. He was the only hope they had left.


	18. Happy

After the incident with Michael Corner, the DA worked harder than ever in practice, but outside of the Room of Requirement, they'd mostly become quiet. There were fewer injuries than ever. It would have been a nice change of pace, if not for the reasons.

Michael was little more than a shell; Neville didn't think he'd lost his mind, but he'd lost himself, at least for awhile. Ginny kept a brave facade on the outside, but it was obvious to Neville that she was barely keeping it together. No one even brought up Luna anymore. She was just another casualty.

Watching Seamus might have been the worst part, though. He hadn't been close to Michael, but he had apparently been the closest to the edge of any of them, since he'd never felt like he had reason to hope, and the incident with Michael had pushed Seamus over that edge. Seamus didn't react to anything anymore—didn't smile, didn't frown, never grew angry or afraid. Nothing said in Muggle Studies class could get a rise out of him, however Carrow tried—and she was clearly trying hard. Neville tried everything from asking his opinion on DA lesson plans, to making jokes, to talking about their detentions, to bringing up Harry again. Seamus didn't even try to deny that Harry would come. He replied quietly in monosyllable. There was nothing left of him.

Today had been a rough day at DA practice. Between smuggled ingredients picked up at Hogsmeade visits and trips to steal from Snape's stores—he'd gotten better at that, he hadn't been caught in awhile—Neville had managed to scrape up enough materials for everyone to make an attempt at Felix Felicis, but so far, none of them had come close.

Liquid luck was notoriously difficult to brew, and the side effects of taking too much of it were ominous, but Neville figured it was worth a try. They were all spending more and more time in the Room of Requirement. Neville didn't mind their practice room becoming a safe space for those who were afraid and a hospital for those whose fears had come to pass, but he also wanted to keep it as a productive work space. He worked around the clock looking for new lessons to teach, and he was running out of steam on defensive spells. He was abysmal with potions, so Ginny was doing most of the teaching.

None of them had dared to ask Slughorn for help. According to those who were taking his class, he had lost a lot of his nerve over the past few months. Neville couldn't blame him, especially after the display with Michael Corner. He didn't envy any of the professors at Hogwarts; he had no idea what they were going through when the students weren't around.

Neville was looking over Lavender's cauldron when Ernie Macmillan entered the Room of Requirement. He walked slowly, holding a copy of the Quibbler in his hands.

By the look on his face, Neville worried for a moment that Luna had been found dead. But Ernie's actions said otherwise. He didn't go to Neville or Ginny; he went straight over to Seamus.

Neville watched Seamus's face carefully from across the room. Ernie spoke quietly, so Neville couldn't hear anything he was saying. Seamus looked up at him, his expression as blank as ever, and they exchanged a few words.

Then Seamus's eyes clouded over, and rage filled his whole being, the likes of which Neville had never seen in him. He threw down the ingredients in his hand, took his wand out, and stormed toward the door of the Room of Requirement.

Neville raced to follow him. "I know that look. What happened?"

"My parents. The Death Eaters took my parents. The Carrows were _laughing_ . . ."

Condolences would have to wait. "Where are you going?"

"To kill them."

"Seamus, you can't just go attack them. They'll kill you."

"I don't care!"

"But you can't—"

Seamus whirled to face Neville, pointing his wand. "STUPEFY."

Neville only just dodged the curse—Seamus had made it easy by forgetting everything he'd been taught about how to use the spell properly. Neville pulled out his wand, and they faced each other. "Seamus, please don't make me—"

" _Expelliarmus!_ " That was Ginny. Seamus's wand flew from his hand, and he stumbled backward.

"You're not going to stop me," Seamus spat, and ran for the exit again.

Neville didn't bother with his wand this time. He raced forward and grabbed Seamus by the arm.

Seamus's fist shot out and connected with Neville's jaw.

The pain was barely even a distraction, after everything they'd faced from the Carrows, but the surprise stunned him for a moment. Long enough that Seamus would have gotten away.

Neville was lucky he'd trained the DA so well. Three other students flooded in and grabbed Seamus by the arms, pinning him.

Seamus put up a fight, but it didn't last. He stumbled on the first attempted punch and ended up on his knees. The three students grabbed his arms and held him down; one said, "I don't want to jinx you."

" _Let me go!_ "

"No." Neville walked over in front of Seamus. "We're not letting you get hurt. We can talk about ways to help your parents, but you're not racing in and confronting Death Eaters."

"Let me—let me—" Seamus's head dropped, and he burst into sobs. He gave one last attempt to pull his arms away, and his protectors pushed him down a little harder. He dropped to the floor, facedown, his shoulders shaking violently.

As horrible as it was, Neville knew this was a critical moment. For however short a time, Seamus was back. He could feel again. He could care. And Neville had to make use of that.

Neville nodded to Seamus's protectors. They let go of his arms, and Neville knelt down beside his friend. He put a hand on Seamus's back, pressing hard enough to be a warning—that he wasn't going to let Seamus run off and get himself killed—but gently enough that he hoped, he desperately hoped, it could still be a comfort.

"They're gonna kill my parents," Seamus cried into the floor.

"No, no." Neville's hand moved up and down between Seamus's shoulder blades. "They're survivors."

"First Luna, now—"

"Luna's not dead."

"She's _dead,_ mate. They're all dead."

Neville felt tears sting his own eyes, but that wasn't what Seamus needed from him. Not right now. "Hey, hey. Remember first year? Remember Professor Quirrell, and how Voldemort tried to use him to steal the sorcerer's stone, and how Harry stopped him?"

Seamus just kept crying.

Neville rubbed his back a little harder. "Remember second year? The chamber of secrets? They were going to have to shut down the school, but—"

"Remember Cedric?"

Neville's heart sank.

"Harry's our age, Neville. He's the luckiest kid I've ever known, but he can't save everyone."

Seamus started to push himself up. Reflexively, Neville responded by increasing the pressure on his back, but when Seamus persisted, slowly, Neville let Seamus sit up, though keeping a grip on his arm.

Seamus wiped his tears away. "Remember that first boat ride into Hogwarts?"

Neville closed his eyes and remembered. He could almost feel the chilliness of the evening, the fresh smell of autumn in the air. It was his first glimpse of the Hogwarts castle, live and in person. It had been beautiful.

Ginny came to sit down beside them. "Remember our first DA meeting? We were all terrible . . ."

Neville smiled. "Remember our first transfiguration lesson? I was terrified of McGonagall back then . . ."

"You were terrified of all the teachers." Seamus sniffed, rubbing his face. "Remember when detention meant cleaning cauldrons and writing lines?"

"Remember when the biggest thing we worried about was our exams?" Ginny said.

Seamus's eyes pierced Neville's. "Remember when we were happy?"

Neville let go of Seamus's arm, shifting his hand to rub his back instead. "We're going to be happy again, Seamus. I promise."

Seamus's head dropped, and tears streamed down his cheeks again. Neville put an arm around his shoulders, and Ginny draped her arm across his back, and they rested.


	19. Good News

Ginny shifted from one foot to the other in eager anticipation as the DA members settled down.

The group had seemed to grow closer than ever in the wake of all of the tragedy they had faced—the detentions, the torture, the news of family members and friends who had been kidnapped. Neville was clearly working himself to the bone trying to prepare everyone for whatever tomorrow would bring, as well as keep morale up. Neville and Ginny were holding up better than most because they still believed Harry was coming for them, but Neville was still going to crack any minute if a miracle didn't happen.

Then, earlier today, a miracle happened.

Neville knew Ginny was going to start the meeting by reading a letter she had received from Bill, but she hadn't told even him what it said. He would be as surprised as everyone else.

Neville called the room to attention, then said, "Ginny is going to start us off today. Ginny?" There was fear in his eyes. Letters from family were rarely a good sign.

Ginny struggled to hold back the grin that threatened to spoil the surprise. "This is a letter from my brother, Bill," she began, then cleared her throat, holding up the paper to read it even though she had long memorized the words:

" _Dear Ginny,_

_"I hope things are going well. I keep hearing rumors about Hogwarts this year. If even half of them are true, I can't imagine what it's been like for you."_

She left out the sentence where he told her that he was sure she was tough enough to handle anything that came her way, probably better equipped than any of her siblings, and that he was proud of her—that she wasn't his baby sister anymore. It felt personal to her, but aside from that, she still wasn't sure if she agreed with him about her capability.

_"I heard you're going to be at the Burrow over the Easter holiday. I know our parents are looking forward to seeing you. I will try to make my way over to you during that week if I can, but things have been a little busier than usual for us. We're playing host to a few new houseguests. I hope you'll let Neville know, since he sent us a few letters about Luna—Ron, Harry, and Hermione rescued both Luna Lovegood and_ _Mr. Ollivander_ _from the cellar at Malfoy manor, and they are staying with us while they recover—"_

The clamor in the room cut her off. Ginny never finished reading the letter, but it didn't matter. She'd said what she wanted to.

Her smile hurt her cheeks—she supposed those muscles were out of practice—and her eyes skimmed over the room of hugging and laughing and crying kids, landing finally on Neville. His eyes were wide with shock for a few seconds, then he dropped to his knees, shaking with euphoric sobs. She hurried over to him and knelt down to put her arms around him. He clung to her, weeping into her shoulder.

It had been months since anyone had cried over a detention, or over the pain from a beating or the Cruciatus—the display with Michael Corner had been an exception. Most of them didn't cry when news came in of a new kidnapping or murder, with the exception of the families of the victims. But today, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

They had all become desensitized to bad news and excruciating pain, and as a result, they were all more sensitive than ever to unexpected joy. The Ravenclaws were especially overjoyed, as were the other sixth years, and the first years who had flocked around Luna whenever she told stories to distract them from the pain.

Luna had always worried about having friends. Ginny wished she could see the DA now.

Ginny let the joy in the room wash over her and fill her, trying not to think about how long it might be before good news came again. It wasn't worth thinking that way.

Because Luna's rescue represented more than her own safety. It was hope that anyone could survive, that the war might be won. Any of their lost family members could be rescued as well. But perhaps even more than that, it was a renewing of faith in Harry. Neville always claimed Harry would come back to save them, but most people didn't believe it anymore. Now, it seemed, maybe there was a chance.

* * *

It was difficult to leave everyone behind to go to the Burrow. Even though Ginny knew her family was waiting for her, and even though she knew how difficult it had been for her mother, especially, to have to constantly wonder about her safety, her friends at Hogwarts had become a family of a different kind, and she would worry about them while she was gone.

Ginny performed a few self-healing spells on herself on the train. That was always one of the nice perks about going home for a week—they didn't have to keep up any facades about the injuries that the Slytherins and the Carrows dished out. On the train, though, Ginny sat alone. It was a far cry from the ride to Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. Ginny never put away her wand, in fear that Death Eaters might attack again, but the ride was, thankfully, uneventful.

Her mother was waiting for her at the station. She pulled Ginny into a bone-crushing hug that lasted long enough to be a little embarrassing, considering they were in public, but Ginny didn't complain or try to pull away—she let her mother be the first to let go. Ginny had held back quite a few details of what was happening at Hogwarts, both out of fear of putting them in a letter, and because she didn't want her parents to panic any more than they needed to. Sometimes, though, she swore her mother could read her mind. That she knew exactly what Ginny had been through, every dark detail.

Her dad was waiting for her at home, along with Fred and George. Her dad hugged her for almost as long as her mother had, then even Fred and George gave her the same treatment, though Fred followed it up with a stinging tug to her hair—she smacked his arm in response, and they both smirked but didn't quite laugh.

Family dinner after a school term was usually a noisy affair as everyone clamored to tell stories, but tonight, dinner was fairly quiet. Ginny didn't want to tell stories about what she'd been through, and she could tell from the looks on the faces of everyone at the table that they didn't want to, either. There was a haunted look in each of their eyes, but being together was also a release of tension—just being in each other's company, knowing they were all safe, inspired a deep and beautiful peace.

A letter came in right after dinner. Her father read through it silently, then looked back up at his family. He breathed in to speak, but only gasps came out.

Fred took the letter from him and skimmed it from himself. His face turned even paler than usual. "The Death Eaters found out Ron is with Harry."

George nodded. "We have to hide."

Ginny's heart skipped—if the Death Eaters had found out a few hours earlier, or if the warning had reached them a week later, Ginny might have been kidnapped from the Hogwarts Express.

Ginny couldn't go back to Hogwarts.

"Th-they know about the Burrow," her mom said.

"They don't know about Aunt Muriel," Fred said. "Ginny, you haven't unpacked, have you?"

"I'm still packed," Ginny said, "but none of you are."

"Yes we are," her mother replied. "We've been preparing for this. We have bags and a portkey ready. We'll have to leave tonight."

It had happened so fast, Ginny was still processing it all. She wouldn't be able to let the DA know what had happened to her. Chances were, it would be weeks or months before her family could even leave Aunt Muriel's.

Neville was going to be leading the DA by himself. She tried to comfort herself by thinking that Seamus might step up to fill her shoes and Luna's, but she didn't really believe it. Seamus was brave, but his strength didn't manifest in the same way as theirs. He wasn't a leader. Neville would have to finish the year out alone.

Ginny didn't have time to let Neville know where she was going. It wasn't safe to tell him much, anyway. Instead, she sent him a message on the Galleon, as long a message as she dared to send:

_Safe, but in hiding. I'll come back to school as soon as I can. Ginny._

It was more peace of mind than they had had with Luna, and it would have to be enough.


	20. The Hog's Head

A few days after the DA received the message about Ginny going into hiding, Neville realized that Seamus had been living in the Room of Requirement.

Two months ago, Neville would have seen it as a coward's move. Now, it was the only thing that made sense. There was no fight left except to survive the last few months of the school year.

On second thought, maybe it wasn't that there was no fight, and more that the fight had changed. They'd all become stronger and wiser—statements of rebellion wouldn't do them any good, either in the short term or the long term. If the opportunity arose to fight back in a way that was meaningful, they would. Until then, the best way they could protect themselves and their families would be to lie low.

It went against everything Neville knew and believed in to admit that. He still kept the note from his gran on his person at all times, the one that said she was proud of him. He had to wonder if she'd be proud of him for going into hiding. Then again, Ginny had, and Neville didn't think any less of her for it.

Gradually, subtly, Neville started encouraging more and more kids to move into the Room of Requirement—kids who had been badly injured again and again, kids whose families might be vulnerable. In particular, those whose bloodline wasn't pure. The room kept itself well hidden, at Neville's request, and hammocks and bathrooms, as well as other supplies, kept materializing. The one thing the room couldn't provide was food.

The House Elves who worked in the kitchens were on their side at first. Neville snuck into the kitchen nightly, and using the skills he'd learned over the course of the school year, he managed to avoid being caught with the supplies on his way back. The House Elves weren't so lucky—the diminished inventory didn't go unnoticed. One night, when Neville came by for the package, the two elves who had usually handed him the food came to him empty-handed. They apologized profusely, but they were bruised and bleeding, tears still welling in their enormous round eyes.

Neville spent that night with the House Elves, patching up as many of the House Elves as he could with the few medical supplies he kept on his person. When he ran out of supplies, he took to fashioning cold packs with the supplies he could find in the kitchen. He spoke encouraging words to the elves, thanking them for the service they'd given so far and trying to remember what Luna would have said. It didn't seem to matter what words he chose, though—they all fell at his feet crying over his kindness.

His return to the Room of Requirement was met with venom at first. Seamus was the first to shout at him for not coming back, but Neville knew exactly what his anger was about. It wasn't about the food. It was about the fact that he'd left them all waiting and wondering whether he'd been caught, whether he was being tortured or killed. And emotions always ran higher when the people expressing them hadn't eaten.

Part of Neville thought maybe he should have returned to the others to explain the situation before coming back to tend to the House Elves, but more late-night trips through the castle meant more risk of being seen. He would rather the DA have to worry about him being incapacitated for an evening, than to leave them helpless because he really had gotten himself caught.

Even if the emotions were understandable, and the arguments resolved themselves quickly, food remained the problem. Neville couldn't let the House Elves get tortured. Even if he tried to sneak past the elves and steal from the kitchen without help, the elves would be blamed for the missing food.

Halfway through the second day, the members of the DA who were in hiding stopped complaining about being hungry. Complaining didn't do any good. And finally, in the relative quiet, Neville was able to think.

He closed his eyes and spoke to the room. "Please," he whispered. "Help us. I know you can't make food, but give us . . . a way to find it. Give us something. We're going to starve . . ."

When he opened his eyes, there was a door on the far wall.

It wasn't the entrance into the room. It was _another_ door.

Neville wondered for a moment if the Room of Requirement had managed to violate all known laws of magic and provide them with a pantry. But when he opened the door, he found a long, dark passageway.

A year ago, Neville would have sent someone else to investigate it first. Today, he didn't even hesitate. He just walked, leaving the others behind.

The man who stood at the other end of the passageway almost made Neville think of Dumbledore at first, but he definitely wasn't Dumbledore. He didn't seem surprised to see Neville, either. "Hogwarts student, are you?" the man asked.

"Who are you?" Neville asked. He recognized the place where the hallway had lead, though he hadn't been here many times. It was the Hog's Head, in Hogsmeade.

"Aberforth Dumbledore."

"Y-you're—"

"Albus's brother."

Neville's voice caught in his throat. He hadn't even known Dumbledore _had_ a brother.

"I suppose you're looking for help."

"How did you know?"

"The painting told me."

Neville waited for an explanation, but the man simply turned away, walking into another room. He returned with a large basket, weighted down with food.

"Take this," he said, "and some advice. The war's over, boy. There's no use fighting it."

Neville took the basket. He'd still been stammering for words, but at this, he burst out, "What do you think you're doing, by helping us?"

The man's jaw stiffened. "Go back to where you came from."

Neville swallowed hard, the basket heavy in his arms. As incredible as it was that the Room of Requirement had managed to make this happen, it wasn't much good to them as a temporary fix. "What about tomorrow?"

Aberforth grunted, but said, "I'll be waiting for you."

"We'll pay you back for the food. Someday. I promise."

"The world's over. There is no someday," Aberforth called after him as he headed back toward Hogwarts. "Keep your empty promises to yourself."

Neville couldn't help but smile the whole way back to Hogwarts.


	21. Aberforth's Advice

The Room of Requirement had become more like a hotel and hideout than an instructional room. Neville still kept students busy during the day with lessons, which he planned while everyone else was in class, if he wasn't tending to the injured, but that was only a small portion of what he did.

There were a few kids who stayed in the Room of Requirement all of the time, having deemed it unsafe to ever show their faces in the castle at all—Michael Corner was one of these, as well as Neville himself—but it wasn't common. Most simply hid out in the room between classes. The punishments for skipping class were steep; if someone missed one day, it would be dangerous for them to go back the next, so people mostly hung out in the Room of Requirement between classes.

The room also served as a hospital for those who were injured during classes or detentions, and as much as it could be, it was a place of mental recovery for those who had been hurt or forced to hurt others, and for those who received bad news about their family members and friends. Neville sat and listened and held people's hands and let them cry on his shoulder. It didn't matter who the victims were—male or female, his age or younger, Gryffindor or not. He served as nurse and counselor as well as teacher.

Neville never went to class. He never ate in the Great Hall. He went out occasionally, to help rescue kids who needed it, and took a few blows from Slytherins, but he was never caught for long enough to be brought in and tortured at length. For the most part, though, his only escape from the Room of Requirement was when he took the walk to the Hog's Head after they closed. But even without classes to consider, he was still working more hours than he had ever worked in his entire life.

"You're burning out, boy," Aberforth told Neville one evening when he went to pick up supplies.

"I'm fine."

"Tell that to the bags under your eyes."

Neville shook his head. "I don't have a choice."

"Sit awhile."

"I have to get back. They're hungry."

"They can wait a few minutes."

Neville sighed and sat down at a table, suddenly aware that he hadn't taken a break all day. Aberforth poured him a thick hot chocolate, and Neville sipped, then drank deeply.

"You have people on your team?" Aberforth asked.

"They're all on my team."

"Nah, they're your patients. They're your students. Do you have a _team?_ "

 _Oh_. That kind of team. "I had Luna and Ginny. But Luna was kidnapped off the Hogwarts Express—she got rescued, but she hasn't come back to Hogwarts yet. And Ginny had to go into hiding."

"Smart girl," Aberforth muttered.

"There are a few sixth and seventh years left, but . . . they'll crack under the pressure."

" _You're_ cracking under the pressure. Only reason they're not stepping up is 'cause you're doing everything for them. They don't trust themselves because they don't think you trust them."

He had a point. "Maybe I can get them to help me."

"That's a full time job in itself. You get a team, you lead them. That's your job. Not all the healing and grief counseling you've been doing."

"I'm . . . not the right person to do that. I'm not a leader."

"Suit yourself. But you mark my words, you'll burn out if you keep at it like this."

Neville frowned and drained the last of the hot chocolate. Aberforth was probably right, but he didn't know what to do about it. "It won't be much longer, anyway."

"Stay quiet and you might have awhile to live yet," Aberforth said.

"No, I mean . . . Harry Potter is coming back for us."

"Harry Potter?" Aberforth laughed, but Neville could sense an uncertainty in the laughter.

"Yes." Neville spoke softly and firmly. He still believed, but he was getting used to being ridiculed.

"If my brother sent him on some fool's errand and it takes him back here, I'm sure he'll be back. If he's still alive."

Neville swallowed hard. Seamus always insisted that Harry was in hiding; Neville hadn't _really_ considered that Harry might be dead. He just assumed that the Death Eaters would have made that well known. But if the errand, rather than the Death Eaters, had killed him . . .

"But Harry can't save you. No one can. The war's over."

Neville had long given up trying to convince Aberforth that assisting them _was_ part of the war, that it was only beginning. He stood from the table. "Thanks for the food." He picked up the basket and headed toward the door.

"Boy."

Neville turned back.

"You take care of yourself. If you can't live 'till you're as old and jaded as me, I wanna hear you went down fighting, wand in your hand, you hear? Not that you dropped dead of exhaustion."

"Yes, sir," Neville said.

When Neville returned to the Room of Requirement, a loud cheer went up in the room.

Neville blinked. He'd really expected people to be bitter with him for being late to return, but they were in better spirits than he'd seen them in a long time. Even Seamus was smiling.

"What's going on?" Neville asked Lavender and Parvati as he watched the students laughing and chatting while they ate.

"Harry Potter was spotted," Lavender said. "With Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Neville's heart skipped, then pounded slow and hard. If it had lead to such an increase in morale, it must be good news. "Where?"

"Outside of Gringotts. They broke in and escaped on a _dragon!_ "

" _Really?_ " The smile felt odd on Neville's face after so long without one. "How do you know?"

"News gets around. They all heard because Terry Boot was shouting about it in the Great Hall."

Neville laughed, though he felt vague concern for Terry. "Where are they?"

"I dunno. But they're alive, and . . ." She shook her head, grinning. "There's _something_ going on, Neville. I think you're right. I think they're going to come for us."

He let out a cheer of his own, throwing up his hands. The end of the wait was in sight. They were going to be saved.

The chatter in the room died suddenly.

Neville looked up—the door had just opened, and Terry Boot had stepped inside. He limped into the room, his left eye swollen shut, his clothes torn and bloody, his lips split in two places.

It was going to be another long night. There would be healing needed for Terry, which looked like it was going to be extensive; counseling for those who had seen it happen and for those who panicked over what the coming days would look like. There would be a redoubling of lesson planning to serve as a distraction.

All at once, it caught up to him. He could feel the weight of his limbs, individually, and the heaviness of his eyelids, and an impossible ache in his spine, and a deep _weariness_.

He couldn't do this. Aberforth was right. It was going to kill him.

"Lavender," Neville said, "how are your healing spells coming along?"

She smiled a little and went over to Terry, guiding him over to one of the hospital beds.

"Seamus, can you finish here with the food and supplies?"

"Sure, mate."

"Parvati, can you get started checking in on people and making sure they're okay?"

"On it."

Neville gave jobs to a couple of other older kids, and he spent the rest of the evening checking in on the team of people he'd assigned tasks, rather than dividing his time between every individual member of the DA. By the time they were all ready to turn in, he was tired, but he didn't feel like he was going to drop dead on the spot.

He checked the time as he settled into bed, and he realized that getting through the injuries and comforting the anxious and hurting had taken hours less than it usually did on nights like tonight. He was going to be able to get his first full night of sleep in weeks. Maybe he could delegate some of the lesson planning, too, or at least some of the teaching . . .

His heart ached with longing for Ginny and Luna, but they could get through this. Harry or no Harry, they would get through another day.


	22. The Savior, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of direct quotes from HPDH in the next couple of chapters, but I felt like it needed them. I own nothing.

There was nothing left to do but wait. Now, though, everyone seemed okay with that. The hope Neville had carried from the beginning, everyone carried now.

Even with the severity of the beating Terry Boot had taken, the news he'd brought had left morale higher than ever. Harry was alive. He wasn't even in hiding. He'd broken into Gringotts and left riding a dragon.

They were reckless that day. Neville hadn't risked leaving the Room of Requirement much lately, but the day after Terry's announcement, he and quite a few others did. He attended his classes, mouthed off to the Carrows, and defied them openly, and he wasn't he only one.

A lot of them got themselves beaten badly. No one cared. The Carrows had lost some of their edge; they weren't trying to break the DA anymore, not really. The DA tended to their wounds in the Room of Requirement, and they talked excitedly about rumors they'd heard. There was blood shed, but no tears.

Neville was cautious about letting his emotions be swayed wildly by rumors—he'd learned the hard way how dangerous that could be. Instead, he focused on caring for people who needed it, teaching lessons to the few that could still focus, and listening attentively and answered questions without inflating any stories he heard.

Let Harry take his time. Do whatever he needed to do. Neville could wait, now that he knew he wasn't waiting in vain.

* * *

Late one night, when Neville was getting ready to go to the Hog's Head for supplies, he did a double take as he reached the door that lead out to the tunnel. A painting had appeared—and it matched the one on the other end.

The girl in the painting beckoned to him. "Neville," she said.

A knot of dread filled Neville's stomach. "Is it not safe to come?"

She smiled. "Harry Potter is waiting for you at the Hog's Head."

Neville's heart rose into his throat.

He was right. He had been right all along. The wait was over.

Neville took his Galleon out of his pocket and began enchanting a message to reach all of the other members of the DA. They were going to rise up and right—Luna was going to come back, and Ginny . . .

He turned around to the room full of people and cleared his throat to announce it to everyone, but his throat choked up, and tears filled his eyes.

Seamus jogged over to him. "No food tonight?" he whispered.

Neville's eyes met Seamus's. Seamus had come a long way. Over the past week, he'd been beaten even worse than Neville. But now it was over. They were saved.

"Harry is here," Neville managed to say. "At the Hog's Head."

Seamus's jaw dropped.

Neville swallowed. "Y-you'll tell everyone?"

Seamus nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "Go."

Neville grinned shakily and stepped into the tunnel.

He walked at first. Then he trotted. For awhile, he broke into a run, but his bruised legs protested. The last few steps, he limped.

The door to the Hog's Head swung open, and there they were.

Neville found his voice all at once. "I knew you'd come! _I knew it, Harry!_ " He threw his arms around Harry, then Ron, then Hermione. He couldn't help it. He had known this moment was coming, but it seemed so surreal, now that it was here. "I knew you'd come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!"

Harry was the first to speak. "Neville, what's happened to you?"

Right—the bruises and torn clothes would probably come as a shock to them—it was best to prepare them for what they would be seeing soon. "What? This? This is nothing, Seamus is worse. You'll see. Shall we get going then? Oh!" Neville turned to Aberforth. "Ab, there might be a couple more people to the way." He'd never called Aberforth _Ab_ before, but it felt like that kind of day.

"Couple more?" Aberforth narrowed his eyes at Neville. "What d'you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There's a curfew and a Camwaulding Charm on the whole village!"

"I know, that's why they'll be Apparating directly into the bar. Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot."

Neville lead the way through the tunnel. He had to force himself to walk rather than run or even skip. Harry was _here!_

"How long's this been here?" Ron asked, looking around at the passageway. "It isn't on the Marauder's Map, is it Harry? I thought there were only seven passages in and out of school?"

"They sealed off all of those before the start of the year," Neville said. "There's no chance of getting through any of them now, not with the curses over the entrances and Death Eaters and dementors waiting at the exits." He turned to walk backwards—he didn't want to take his eyes off of them, as though they would disappear if he looked away for too long. "Never mind that stuff. Is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It's everywhere, everyone's talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!"

"Yeah, it's true," Harry said.

Neville laughed—a fuller, deeper laugh than he had all school year. "What did you do with the dragon?"

"Released it into the wild," Ron said. "Hermione was all for keeping it as a pet."

"Don't exaggerate, Ron," Hermione said.

"But what have _you_ been doing?" Neville asked. "People have been saying you've just been on the run, Harry, but I don't think so. I think you've been up to something."

"You're right," Harry said, "but tell us about Hogwarts, Neville, we haven't heard anything."

Neville wanted to protest, but he figured Harry could tell his stories when they reached the Room of Requirement and everyone was listening. "It's been . . . Well, it's not really like Hogwarts anymore. Do you know about the Carrows?"

"Those two Death Eaters who teach here?" Harry asked.

"They do more than teach." Neville suppressed a shudder. "They're in charge of all discipline. They like punishment, the Carrows."

"Like Umbridge?"

"Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don't, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do. Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts, except now it's just the Dark Arts. We're supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who've earned detentions."

" _What?_ " All three of them spoke at once.

"Yeah. That's how I got this one." Neville pointed at a stinging gash in his cheek. "I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they've ever been top in anything, I expect."

The trio looked shocked, but Neville kept telling his stories. They'd need to know the reality of what the DA had been through if they were to have a hope of helping.

"Alecto, Amycus's sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We've all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drive wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being reestablished. I got this one—" he gestured to another slash to his face "—for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got."

"Blimey, Neville," Ron said, "there's a time and a place for getting a smart mouth."

"You didn't see her," Neville said. "You wouldn't have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry."

"But they've used you as a knife sharpener," Ron said.

Neville shrugged. "Doesn't matter. They don't want to spill too much pure blood, so they'll torture us a bit if we're mouthy, but they won't actually kill us. The only people in real danger are the ones whose friends and relatives on the outside are giving trouble. They get taken hostage. Old Xeno Lovegood was getting a bit too outspoken in The Quibbler, so they dragged Luna off the train on the way back for Christmas."

"Neville, she's all right, we've seen her."

"Yeah, I know, she managed to get a message to me." Neville took out the Galleon. "These have been great. The Carrows never rumbled how we were communicating, it drove them mad. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls: _Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting_ , stuff like that. Snape hated it."

"You _used_ to?" Harry asked.

"Well, it got more difficult as time went on. We lost Luna at Christmas, and Ginny never came back after Easter, and the three of us were sort of the leaders. The Carrows seemed to know I was behind a lot of it, so they started coming down on me hard, and then Michael Corner went and got caught releasing a first-year they'd chained up, and they tortured him pretty badly. That scared people off."

"No kidding," Ron muttered.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple of weeks ago. That's when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran."

"They _what?_ " Again, all three of them spoke together

It was almost gratifying to hear their shock. It gave him hope there was still some semblance of a normal world out there. "Yeah, well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave. I s'pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way around. Thing was—" Neville grinned— "they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought hey didn't need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway, Dawlish is still in St. Mungo's and Gran's on the run. She sent me a letter telling me she was proud of me, that I'm my parent's son, and to keep it up." Neville patted the pocket where he kept her letter.

"Cool," Ron said

"Yeah." Neville beamed. "Only thing was, once they realized they had no hold over me, they decided Hogwarts could do without me after all. I don't know whether they were planning to kill me or send me to Azkaban, either way, I knew it was time to disappear."

"But aren't we heading straight back for Hogwarts?" Ron asked.

"'Course," Neville said. "You'll see. We're here."


	23. The Savior, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this is going a little longer than I had anticipated . . . just a few more chapters ;)

Neville climbed the steps into the Room of Requirement, bursting through the door and facing his friends, his classmates, his students, his patients, his team, his fellow warriors. "Look who it is! Didn't I tell you?"

The Room of Requirement erupted into cheers, and everyone surrounded Harry, Hermione, and Ron, hugging them, patting them on the back and head, shaking their hands. Neville realized he'd probably also overwhelmed the three when he'd seen them, too, but at least he had been alone.

"Okay, okay, calm down!" Neville called, and the crowd backed away.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Room of Requirement, of course!" Neville said. "Surpassed itself, hasn't it? The Carrows were chasing me, and I knew I had just one chance for a hideout: I managed to get through the door and this is what I found! Well, it wasn't exactly like this when I arrived, it was a load smaller, there was only one hammock and just Gryffindor hangings. But it's expanded as more and more of the DA have arrived."

"And the Carrows can't get in?" Harry's eyes darted around the room.

"No," Seamus said. "It's a proper hideout, as long as one of us stays in here, they can't get at us, the door won't open. It's all down to Neville. He really gets this room. You've got to ask for exactly what you need, like, 'I don't want any Carrow supporters to be able to get in' and it'll do it for you! You've just got to make sure you close the loopholes. Neville's the man!"

"It's quite straightforward, really," Neville said. "I'd been in here about a day and a half, and getting really hungry, and wishing I could get something to eat, and that's when the passage to Hog's Head opened up. I went through it and met Aberforth. He's been providing us with food, because for some reason, that's the one thing the room doesn't really do."

"Yeah, well, food's one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Ron said.

"So we've been hiding out here for nearly two weeks," Seamus said, "and it just makes more hammocks every time we need room, and it even sprouted a pretty good bathroom once girls started turning up—"

"—and thought they'd quite like to wash, yes," Lavender added in.

"Tell us what you've been up to, though," Ernie said to Harry. "There've been so many rumors, we've been trying to keep up with you on Potterwatch." He pointed at the wireless. "You didn't break into Gringotts?"

"They did!" Neville said. "And the dragon's true too!"

The room erupted into applause once again. Harry looked overwhelmed; Hermione smiled lightly; Ron took a slight bow.

"What were you after?" Seamus asked.

At that moment, Harry gripped his head and doubled over. Ron grabbed onto him to steady him, and Neville took a step closer.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Neville should have been more aware—they must have been exhausted and thoroughly overwhelmed. "Want to sit down? I expect you're tired, aren't you?"

"No." Harry gave pointed looks to Ron and Hermione. "We need to get going."

"What are we going to do, then, Harry?" Seamus asked. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Harry said. "Well, there's something we—Ron, Hermione, and I—need to do, and then we'll get out of here."

Dead silence in the Room of Requirement. Neville felt like his insides were being carved out.

They'd waited for their saviors. Hoped and longed and dreamed and imagined the day Harry would come for them. And now . . . now he wasn't here to save them. He was just _stopping in_.

"What d'you mean, 'get out of here'?" Neville only just managed to get the words out.

"We haven't come back to stay," said Harry, rubbing his scar, trying to soothe the pain. "There's something important we need to do."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you."

Neville's heart raced. "Why can't you tell us? It's something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then we'll help you."

Neville looked back at the other members of his team. If he didn't know them well, he wouldn't have noticed his own disappointment reflected in their eyes. By all appearances, they were nodding, ready to help. It wasn't a lie—they'd all do whatever they needed to do to help Harry. If it was part of the war, the army was ready to fight.

"You don't understand," Harry said. "We can't tell you. We've got to do it alone."

"Why?" Neville set his jaw.

"Because . . . Dumbledore left the three of us a job, and we weren't supposed to tell. I mean, he wanted us to do it, just the three of us."

"We're his army." Neville gestured all around himself. "Dumbledore's Army. We were all in it together, we've been keeping it going while you three have been off on your own."

"It hasn't exactly been a picnic, mate," Ron said.

"I never said it had, but I don't see why you can't trust us. Everyone in this room's been fighting, and they've been driven in here because the Carrows were hunting them down. Everyone in here's proven they're loyal to Dumbledore, loyal to you."

"Look," Harry said, but right at that moment, the tunnel door had just opened behind him.

Luna and Dean.

"We got your message, Neville!" Dean said. "Hello you three, I thought you must be here!"

Seamus cried out and ran to Dean, throwing his arms around him.

"Hi, everyone!" Luna beamed. "Oh, it's great to be back!"

Neville's throat choked with euphoria. He took the few steps that separated them and wrapped her in a tight hug. She hugged back a bit more gently, the way she always had. He took her at arm's length and looked her in the eyes. Somehow, despite the new shadows that now haunted her gaze, the light hadn't left her. "You're safe," he whispered.

She nodded, and he pulled her into another hug.

"Luna," Harry said, "what are you doing here? How did you—"

"I sent for her." Neville turned to face him and took the fake Galleon out of his pocket. "I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up I'd let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows."

"Of course that's what it means." Luna's smile widened. "Isn't it, Harry? We're going to fight them out of Hogwarts?"

But Harry's eyebrows had knitted together. "Listen, I'm sorry, but that's not what we came back for. There's something we've got to do, and then—"

"You're going to leave us in this mess?" Michael Corner crossed his arms.

"No!" Ron said. "What we're doing will benefit everyone in the end, it's all about trying to get rid of You-Know-Who."

"Then let us help!" Neville said. "We want to be a part of it!" Despite the pain of discovering, suddenly, that their saviors weren't there for the reasons they'd believed, Neville had shifted his perspective in his mind as quickly as he could. Voldemort was the real enemy. Not the Carrows, not Snape. Neville should have known that that was what Harry was here to do.

But Harry didn't get a chance to reply. Ginny came through the tunnel just then. She gave Harry the first smile, holding nothing back—it was positively _flirtatious_ —but she went over to give Luna a hug shortly after, then Neville. Standing between Luna and Ginny, Neville couldn't remember the last time he had felt so whole.

Then the tunnel door burst open yet again. Fred and George Weasley, Lee Jordan, and Cho Chang entered into the Room of Requirement.

Harry trudged over to Neville. "You've got to stop this! What did you call them all back for? This is insane."

Neville breathed in to answer, but Dean beat him to it.

"We're fighting, aren't we?" Dean took out his fake Galleon. "The message said Harry was back, and we were going to fight! I'll have to get a wand, though."

"You haven't got a wand?" Seamus asked.

Ron turned suddenly to Harry. "Why can't they help?"

"What?" Harry asked.

Neville held his breath while Ron, Harry, and Hermione whispered to each other. He glanced around the room. Fred and George were joking with Lee, Dean and Seamus were talking and laughing, Cho had run over to some of the other Ravenclaws to catch up. The whole room was alive. This was the way Hogwarts was supposed to be.

If only Harry would see it and let them help.

Luna looked over at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to be back, anyway."

"Are you okay, Luna?" Ginny asked.

Luna nodded. "I'll tell you about it later."

Ginny frowned, but turned to Neville. "Those cuts look fresh. You're taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah. Aberforth's made sure of that," Neville said. "You weren't seen, were you?"

"Don't see how I could have been." Ginny swallowed hard. "I—"

"Okay!" Harry cleared his throat, and the room quieted.

Neville's heart leaped into his throat. They were doing this. Helping to defeat Voldemort, saving the wizarding world. It was finally time.

"There's something we need to find," Harry said.


	24. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last official chapter! I'll post an epilogue in a couple of weeks.

Years later, the final battle would all be a blur to Neville. He'd remember, in painstaking detail, the school year that lead up to it. But many of the details of the battle itself were blurry in his mind.

He remembered fighting off Death Eaters using plants and spells, every skill he'd so painstakingly taught the rest of the DA coming to use. He remembered glowing with pride for all of them, for the way they used everything they'd been taught, from defense to battle tactics to healing.

He remembered watching Lavender fall, and having no time to stop for her. He just kept firing spells, with a renewed intensity, a determination that no more of his beloved friends should fall.

Of course, many fell. The work Neville had put in to ensure he knew every member of the DA, by name and by abilities, meant he could put a name to every fallen body when the time came to clear away the dead. When he took a break from transporting the injured and helping with the healing, he found Luna, staring off into space, alone in the Gryffindor common room. He sat beside her until she was ready to go back and face the bodies again. Neither of them shed tears. It wasn't time for that.

He remembered watching the Weasleys gather around Fred's body in the Great Hall, and desperately wanting to go comfort Ginny, but holding back—their family ought to be allowed to grieve in peace.

He remembered what Harry told him—to kill the snake. Neville knew by the way he said it that it was important, perhaps the most important directive he'd ever been given in his entire life. He also felt the weight and finality of the way Harry said it. He was heartbroken, but not surprised, when the news came in that Harry was dead.

He remembered that Hagrid was crying when he brought back Harry's body, and he remembered—however hazily—the desperate emptiness he felt in that moment. He had used Harry as a symbol of hope, united Dumbledore's Army under the belief that their fight was not forever, that Harry was coming back. And now Harry was dead. But Neville didn't feel hopeless, even when he believed that the symbol of their hope had been defeated. He felt all the more determined to ensure that Harry's sacrifice was not in vain. Harry was one person. They still had an army.

The moment Neville stood down Voldemort, he would remember for years to come. Remember the exact words he'd used:

_"I'll join you when hell freezes over!"_

Thankfully, he didn't really remember the pain of the Sorting Hat burning on his head. Excruciating though it might have been, it was a small complaint as compared to what he had faced over the course of the school year, and it was short lived—the body bind curse didn't last, and at the time, he didn't even question why it failed to contain him.

Pulling the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat ought to have been a euphoric moment of validation, a final confirmation that he hadn't been Sorted into the wrong House. But he had long ceased to view bravery as glorious. Bravery was a choice, a duty, a lifestyle, but it was not a feeling. And even when it _was_ a feeling, that feeling was anything but euphoric.

Killing that snake felt awfully good, though.

* * *

The day after the battle, everyone slept.

The night after the battle was a school-wide memorial for the fallen. Neville mourned for Fred, for Lupin and Tonks, for Lavender, and for all of the other students. McGonagall lead the ceremony with tears in her own eyes.

Neville knew he should speak at the funeral, that the other students would be expecting him to, but in that moment, tears streaming down his face, shoulders shaking with sobs, a feeling like a hole the size of the castle had been carved out of his chest, he didn't step up. A crushing weight of fatigue came over him, and he froze in place, remaining silent. He'd regret that moment of cowardice for the rest of his life. When dozens of eyes turned to Neville, expecting him to inspire them one last time, Luna squeezed his hand and stepped up to the podium. He didn't even hear any of her words.

Most of the students left for their dormitories directly after the memorial. Neville went to the Room of Requirement. He knew it was still technically against the rules to be out of bed after dark, but he absolutely could not imagine anyone would give him any trouble, even if he was caught.

He passed by Professor McGonagall in the corridor, who gave him a gentle smile that conveyed more pride than his aching heart could take. She didn't remark on the fact that he was headed the wrong way. She didn't say anything at all.

Neville stood in the Room of Requirement, and he was alone. The hammocks, pillows, and blankets were gone, as were the washrooms that had appeared over time, and the candles, and the books, and the medical supplies. Even the door to the Hog's Head had been sealed up, replaced by empty wall. For some reason, sitting in the center of the floor was a single ceramic plate—the only item in an otherwise empty room.

A cold chill passed over Neville's arms and legs. His grief for the dead had silenced, for the time being. Nor did he feel any gratitude for the end of a once-endless battle, for the safety to roam the castle and live his life as he wished. Dumbledore's Army had become his identity; the Room of Requirement was his home. Now that it was all over, truly over, he had no idea who he was.

He chided himself. He couldn't be thinking this way—it was a dishonor on the sacrifice of the dead. He was free now—they all were.

No more torture. No more fear of murder or starvation or kidnapping. No more Carrows, no more Snape. No more patching up wounds and telling stories to distract from the pain. No more sneaking out to find food and supplies and ducking around corners.

No more late nights studying defensive spells and healing, poring over books and devising new teaching strategies, watching younger kids struggle and succeed. No more scrounging for news, mourning with those who lost family, rejoicing with the ones who received word that their loved ones were safe.

No more soul-deep camaraderie with people with whom he lived and for whom he would die.

No more living each and every moment knowing how proud his parents would be would be, if they could see where he was now.

Neville raked his fingers through his hair, breath catching in his throat. What kind of monster had he become, to long for the battle he'd fought so hard to end?

The emptiness, and the shame at feeling empty rather than elated, overcame him. He felt like he was drowning. He clenched his teeth and stalked over to the single ceramic plate, and threw it against the wall. It shattered, spraying shards across the room. A couple of bits hit Neville in the arm, and he didn't even feel them.

Another identical plate sat in the place where the previous one had been before Neville picked it up. Neville threw that one at the wall, and another appeared, and another. Before long, the stone walls of the room were dented in a hundred different places, the floors were covered in ceramic shards, and Neville's face and arms bore dozens of tiny new cuts from the pieces. He was panting, out of breath, by the time the plates stopped appearing.

Despite having felt like he'd cried as many tears as he had in him at the memorial, Neville fell to his knees and wept.

A soft creak sounded behind him, and he drew in a deep breath. There was no shame in tears—everyone had seen them tonight—but somehow, he still felt mortified to be found here, like this.

"This place looks a lot different now."

Neville opened his eyes to find that the ceramic shards had disappeared, and the walls were repaired. He wiped his eyes, stood, and turned around to find Harry Potter himself standing in the doorway.

"Er . . . Ginny said you might be down here. She said I should come talk to you. She says . . . well, we couldn't have done this without you."

Neville shrugged. "You would have found a way."

"Maybe. But a _lot_ more people would have died."

Neville swallowed hard. He couldn't even feel _that_.

"Seamus said you told everyone I would be coming back here," Harry said. "How did you know?"

"Uh . . ." Neville shook his head, his cheeks feeling warm. Somehow, with his supposed savior standing in front of him, he couldn't quite get out a confession that he'd made Harry a symbol of their hope, that everything they had done had counted on his eventual help. "I don't know. I just knew."

"Hmm." Harry's brow furrowed, and he shifted his weight. "Well. I'm glad you were here to look after everyone."

"I'm glad, too." Neville almost managed a smile. "You know, I used to think the Sorting Hat put me in the wrong House."

It was quiet for a moment, then Harry said, "I never thought that."

Neville lowered his head a bit, eyes stinging once again.

Harry nodded. "Well, I'm off to bed. Coming?"

"In a bit." Neville wasn't ready to face everyone yet, and he wasn't ready to end this conversation. He wondered if Harry felt any of the same emptiness he did. "How does it feel, Harry?"

"To have defeated Voldemort?"

"Yeah."

Harry let out his breath. "I'll tell you when I figure it out. Right now I just feel tired."

Something like relief washed over Neville.

Harry started to walk toward the door, then he turned back and smirked. "Hey. You defeated him, too, Neville. How does it feel for you?"

Neville swallowed hard. "Like none of it is real. I feel like I should still be fighting, because I have been for so long, and I know I should be thankful I don't have to, but I don't know what I _should_ be doing."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "That's right."

Neville felt half the weight release from his shoulders. "I think . . . it'll pass."

"I think so, too. We'll just have to wait on it."

Neville refrained from informing Harry that it might be a long wait.

Harry did leave the Room of Requirement then. Neville watched him go, then turned to find a bed had appeared in the corner of the room. He sighed—the Room really did know exactly what he needed. He could face the others in the morning.

"Thanks, old friend," Neville whispered, and went over to settle under the covers. He fell asleep quickly, and he did not dream.


	25. Epilogue

What little remained of the school year, Neville and Luna spent together, often in larger groups with people from the DA. Ginny joined them from now and then, but she spent most of her time with Harry. Seamus also joined them sometimes, but he spent more of his time with Dean.

In the year following the battle, Neville, Ginny, and Luna met up regularly. They reminisced about the good times, the DA lessons that had gone well, and their little victories leading up to winning the war. They lamented the lingering pain, the sleeplessness, the nightmares. They mourned the people they had lost. And sometimes, though it was very seldom, Neville caught a hint of the restlessness he was feeling reflected in Ginny's eyes. He didn't usually see it in Luna. He envied her for that almost as much as he admired her.

For awhile, Neville thought he was in love with Luna. But they weren't what each other needed. He needed someone with whom he could be completely open and have his openness returned; she needed and gave more space than that. Of course, they remained close friends even as he started to spend more time with Hannah Abbott—and Hannah, having seen what they had gone through, completely understood and never begrudged him the friendship.

Over the years, though, and as the three of them healed, the visits became fewer and further between. Although they had comforted each other in the wake of the most traumatic experiences of their entire lives, they also now reminded each other of the trauma. Some days, when the pain became too much of a distraction, Neville would call Luna or Ginny, or one of them would call him, and they'd share the burden together. But on the days when he could stand to avoid thinking about it, he did. And that meant keeping some distance from the closest friends he had ever had and ever would have. It was as much to take care of them as it was to protect him.

Even when he'd married and become a professor at Hogwarts, and even when his life had reached some level of stability, Neville couldn't have exactly said that all was well. He was still broken and damaged, and it surfaced when he least expected it—in occasional venomous arguments with Hannah, in his erratic response to the illness that eventually took his grandmother's life, in moments where he lashed out at a student who had never been trying to upset him.

But his wife was merciful and patient with him, and they always talked things out after they fought. His grandmother remained openly proud of him to the day she died, and Neville carried the letter from her on his person until the page was so worn that the words couldn't be read—though he had it memorized by then. And among Hogwarts students, Professor Longbottom gained a coveted reputation—students knew him as a professor who would confess, apologize, and make amends when he realized he'd been unfair. He was respected for it: students considered it a great dishonor to cross him or take advantage of him.

And once a year, on the day before Christmas Eve, Harry would leave Ginny alone when he took his kids to spend time with Hermione and Ron's. Luna made her way back from whatever adventure she was on at the time, and Hannah took the opportunity to wrap Christmas presents while Neville was at the Potters' house. It was the one time of year that Neville, Luna, and Ginny always, always spent together.

Ginny would make tea and sometimes hot chocolate, and they would rest together in the living room. They told each other about their lives—Ginny talked about Harry and about her kids, and Luna gave updates on her adventures searching for exotic and probably mythical creatures. Ginny and Luna always wanted to hear what was happening at Hogwarts, and they asked whether Neville had taught any of their classmates' children or nieces or nephews or younger siblings. He always had stories to tell to make them laugh.

But inevitably, the chatter and laughter died down as the last of the light faded, and they spent much of the evening in silence. And for as long as it took for them to fall asleep on the couches, they played the same "Remember when?" games they had once played during their school days in silence as often as in words:

_Remember the first time Neville ever cast a Patronus?_

_Remember stealing the Sword of Gryffindor—almost?_

_Remember meeting the Hogwarts professors in the Forbidden Forest and the gifts they gave us?_

_Remember when Neville told off Carrow in front of the entire Muggles Studies class?_

_Remember the way everyone applauded for Ginny when she dislocated her arm?_

_Remember the stories Luna used to tell to the younger kids to keep them distracted?_

_Remember living in the Room of Requirement?_

_Remember when the passage to the Hog's Head first opened, and Aberforth kept trying to insist he had given up even while fighting the battles with the rest of us?_

_Remember when Harry had broke into Gringotts and escaped on a dragon? Remember when Harry returned, and we all cheered until we found out he wasn't there to fight the Carrows?_

_Remember when the day came that we no longer had to ration food, or face torture, or cower in fear for our lives? Remember the day we fought? Remember when Neville destroyed the last Horcrux, and when Harry rose from the dead and Voldemort finally fell?_

_Remember when we believed we were going to lose?_

_Remember when we won?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please do let me know your thoughts—I enjoy reading them :)


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